Adventures of the Wasps' Chaser 3 (aka me)
by 3cheersforidiots
Summary: This is the collection of my stories for the 4th season of the QLFC (Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition), based on various prompts, various scenarios and various tasks. All of them are 900-3000 words in length. Rated T to be safe. Current: Finals (*wistful sigh*) - Honour's Rose
1. As Ready As He'll Ever Be

**Disclaimer (which I always forget…): I do not own the Harry Potter world, nor do I own any canon characters. Celestine and Eleanor are my only OCs. Otherwise… If I owned them, I'd do nasty things to some ;)**

 **Beta love: Huge thanks and virtual cookies to Kefalion (Frida) and .Xanda (Xanda) for helping me to not look like a complete and utter idiot.**

 **Word count: 1285**

 **Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition** \- Round 1 - Chaser 3 - Write about your chosen Death Eater in school (my chosen Death Eater is Lestrange Sr.) - extra prompts used: (word) Inappropriate, (dialogue) "People in their right minds never take pride in their talents", (word) Tomorrow

 **Ultimate Chocolate Frog Card Club** : (Silver) Quintin Trimble - Incorporate the Bat-Bogey Hex into your story.

 **April Event - A Very Potter Birthday** \- AVPSY/This School is Mine - "If you're doubting all you've ever known, then take it as a sign."

* * *

"And last, but not least, Rudolph Lestrange will be paired with Celestine Greengrass," rang the words of Professor Merrythought through the DADA classroom, which was a place filled to the brim with books with yellowed pages, located on the second floor of Hogwarts. "You're excused for the day, and do not forget to inform me of your chosen topic for the assignment by this saturday at the latest."

On this particular day, the mixed group of fifth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors had been given an assignment, which was to be accomplished through pair-work. Fortunately for Rudolph, he wouldn't have to share his handiwork with any of the Gryffindor scum - as he liked calling the lions - but he couldn't help the antipathy that etched itself onto his face upon hearing who he would have to work with.

He didn't particularly fancy Celestine, even though she was his betrothed, but he supposed, maybe working on this assignment would stimulate their relationship. Giving it a try couldn't hurt, as he did not particularly fancy risking the possibility of living in an unhappy marriage. Although, mentioning his doubts about this upcoming marriage to her would have been entirely inappropriate. It would be satisfactory, however, if he was on civil terms with his soon-to-be wife.

And as such, he wiped the mildly reluctant expression from his features in the matter of a moment and instead, masked his face with a look of cold disinterest and sauntered over to where the auburn-haired girl was sitting with two of her friends, Walburga Black and Eleanor Selwyn.

"Celestine," he called. The girl instantly took a turn and locked her gaze on him. "I wish to talk with you. Only the two of us, if you may."

Celestine averted her gaze slightly back to her friends before giving Rudolph an unconvinced nod, to which Walburga and Eleanor erupted in a fit of giggles.

"What do you wish to talk about?" she asked as soon as they were away from the DADA classroom, hidden away in a similar-looking, albeit more deserted, classroom.

"I was just wondering if you had any ideas about what we should write our assignment about," Rudolph said. "As you presumably know, we only have a week to complete it, and I would like to receive a satisfying grade, which is only possible with extensive research. Since I'm not like Riddle, who appears to know everything by heart."

"I haven't had the time to think about it," Celestine admitted truthfully. "But I suppose it doesn't have to be that complex of a spell."

"I didn't know you were so simplistic," Rudolph said, willing himself to fight back the sneer that began to form on his features.

"People in their right minds never take pride in their talents," Celestine replied, giving her partner a harsh glance. "True Slytherins should always know better than to let their strengths shine through. In my humble opinion, the Bat-Bogey Hex would be sufficient for our assignment."

"Maybe," Rudolph said. Of all answers, he had not expected what Celestine suggested. Although, even he had to acknowledge that he liked this apparent surprise. "I suppose we should discuss it at a later date."

"Tomorrow?" Celestine suggested.

"I have Quidditch practice tomorrow," Rudolph said, giving his head a light shake. "But Thursday would be fine."

"Thursday it is, then," Celestine nodded. "Splendid. I'll meet you in the library at 2 o'clock sharp. Do not be late."

Rudolph had no time to phrase an answer, as in the next moment, the door had already shut behind the girl.

Perhaps he had underestimated the auburn-haired girl, but at least, she seemed to be more resourceful in comparison to her rather shallow friends.

~oOo~

"Have you found anything even remotely intriguing?" said Rudolph and stole a glance at the girl settled in the seat next to him.

"Not yet," she mumbled, turning another yellowed page in the book she had been reading for a while now. "But I'm bound to find something any moment now."

"The restricted section would assuredly be of help," Rudolph said, not even bothering to milden the implication his words carried. "I'm fairly certain Professor Merrythought would not mind granting us access."

"I'm not sure," Celestine mused, dropping the book down onto the table with a soft thud. "What I mean is, you would generally find texts only about dark artefacts and curses, and we are not in search of any of the kind. Although, I'm not opposed to the idea."

"If you're ever doubting all you've ever known, then take it as a sign," Rudolph said. "My father told me this once and instructed me to take it to heart."

"I'm afraid, I can't quite follow what you're trying to say," Celestine replied.

"If my interpretation is correct, it means that it is worth delving into the unknown if you seek information which only the mentioned unknown can provide you with," Rudolph explained.

"In short, you're trying to coax me into studying the dark arts specifically in order to finish the assignment," Celestine concluded.

"I might," Rudolph answered indifferently, although a shadow of a smirk was playing behind his dark brown eyes.

Celestine looked to be contemplating it for a brief period of time before she nodded lightly. "Fine, so be it. It seems I couldn't have persuaded you to do otherwise anyway."

Rudolph then tried to mask his awe. A girl who was not afraid to touch darker subjects than those the curriculum prescribed?

She might have grown remarkably in his eyes just then.

~oOo~

"Say, Celestine, what is your opinion on visiting Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Rudolph inquired the following day, flipping through the pages of an ancient-looking book he had just retrieved from the restricted section.

"With you?" she replied, scribbling down a couple of words onto a piece of parchment.

"That is what I meant, yes," Rudolph said.

"I have to admit I had different plans for this Saturday," Celestine said, "nevertheless, I suppose I could make amendments."

"Good," Rudolph nodded. "Because if you could not, I would have made those modifications myself."

"I'm wondering why you would ask me all of a sudden though," Celestine mused. "It's not like you were too keen on appearing alongside me earlier."

"Well, we are expected to marry as soon as we graduate," Rudolph said. "We might as well get to know each other."

"I suppose you're right," Celestine nodded. "Oh, and don't forget to write this paragraph down," she pointed at the text sprawling in front of Rudolph. "I deem it useful for our section about the usage of Bat-Bogey Hex in practical combat."

~oOo~

"Mr Lestrange, Ms Greengrass," Professor Merrythought called. "Your assignment was quite exquisite. Although the Bat-Bogey Hex does not quite reach the fifth-year education level, the additional information on the history of the spell and the preciseness is commendable. Well done," she said, levitating the parchment onto Rudolph, and a copy onto Celestine's desk.

The Lestrange boy glanced at the piece of paper with masked interest at first. Then, he couldn't help but let a smirk spread across his features as he peeked at the curve of the 'O' he and his partner had achieved. When he perked his head up, he was met with a similar expression on the face of the auburn-haired witch.

He had to admit, he was becoming content with the thought of living with the girl for the rest of his life. If there was anything he had learned this last week, it was most definitely to appreciate her.

Even though he was somewhat reluctant to do so, he was ready to let go of his skepticism concerning Celestine Greengrass. Well, as ready as he would ever be.


	2. Five Stages of Taking an Exam

**Beta love: Huge thanks and loads of virtual cookies to Kefalion and LittleMissXanda for betaing, and also collectively to my whole team for helping out with ideas :)**

 **Word count: 1317**

 **QLFC Round 2:** My team's (Wimbourne Wasps) collective prompt was to write about Astronomy. Chaser 3: Write about a character studying for or writing an exam in your subject.

 **Extra Prompts used:**

3\. (word) procrastinate,

4\. (image) images.8tracks cover/i/009/284/113/tumblr_nrauxnmSE51sojkzpo1_500-5868 .jpg,

6\. (song) We The Kings - Check Yes Juliet (Specifically the lyrics "They can change the locks, Don't let them change your mind")

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Five Stages of Taking an Exam**

Stage 1: Taking Notice of the Exam

 _Ms Patil,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been given a unique opportunity to work as an apprentice at the Johannes Kepler's Institute of Astronomical Research in Dresden. However, before we can accept your application, you will need to take the U.T.Z. (Unheimlich Toller Zauberer) level entry exam in Astronomy. If you pass, you will be able to start your six-month trial. The nearest date for this exam is on September 3rd, which is approximately one week away from the date of us sending this owl post._

 _The exam will take place at our institute. We will be sending an international portkey to enable your participation._

 _To confirm your attendance we must have your confirmation by the 24th of August, 1999._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Linda Friedrich,_

 _Head Coordinator of the Johannes Kepler Institute_

* * *

Stage 2: Procrastination

Padma was sitting over a book, her eyes skimming the pages in a rapid fashion; though she occasionally averted her gaze to the window and watched as tiny raindrops raced down the glass, pooling at the bottom. The night sky wasn't even visible; it was covered by dark clouds, hiding the Moon and the stars from view.

She pursed her lips and glanced back down at her book and its slightly yellow tinted pages. Even though she knew more than well that it should've been her copy of _From Astronomy to Cosmology – The Mysteries of the Celestials Uncovered,_ it was instead a romance novel she had been waiting to read since its release. And she had to admit, it was way more captivating than her rather factual textbook.

She loved Astronomy and Astrology – hence her application to one of the most known academies dedicated to the study of the stars – but she just didn't feel like revising in the current, quite depressive, weather. With all the grey clouds covering the sky, she had no chance of getting a clear view of the planets, so she didn't even bother to rummage through her packed trunks for her telescope.

She scanned the page she was currently at once again, took a peek at her Advanced Astronomy textbook and let out an exasperated sigh. She just didn't feel like studying, for possibly the first time in her nineteen years of life. If anything, all she wanted was to procrastinate long enough so that she wouldn't have to study until she went to sleep – maybe then, she could postpone her revising for the next day.

She then tore her eyes away from her otherwise beloved textbook, and with a pang of guilt in her chest, she began reading the next line of the novel she had been holding.

* * *

Stage 3: Even More Procrastination

It was one of those days again. There was a storm outside, droplets of rain were furiously knocking against the windowpanes in Padma's chambers while she was tossing around in her bed, covered in a bunch of duvets. She supposed it must have been well past breakfast time already; however, whenever she came to the conclusion that she had gathered enough energy to unwrap herself from her duvets, she glimpsed the greyness that was seeping through the windows and slumped back into her tired and somewhat lethargic state of being.

She wasn't sure what in Merlin's name had come over her these past few days; whenever she peered at the notes she was supposed to be studying from, her mind went blank all of a sudden and a certain feeling of distaste towards the notion of studying filled her.

It wasn't that she didn't know that it was essential for her to revise, nor was it a dislike for the subject itself – she was perfectly fine with acquiring knowledge in Astronomy anytime – it was that she really didn't want to; it was as if some kind of unspecified force was holding her back.

Then, when she was just about to bury her face in her pillow, she heard a knocking sound coming from the direction of the window – and it was a different knock from the raindrops. It was an owl, holding a rather torn-looking newspaper in its claws.

Padma threw her covers off of herself and tiptoed over to where the creature was sitting, holding their leg out for some kind of payment. The girl opened the window and let the small animal in, and after picking it up from her desk, opened her pouch and placed a sickle in the little purse that was attached to the owl's leg, and then rolled out the newspaper. Meanwhile, the animal let out a hoot and disappeared back into the cloudy sky, leaving a wet patch on everything it had been sitting on.

The paper Padma was holding was a copy of Astronomy Weekly, a magazine she had always loved. She scanned through the headlines until she found a title that caught her attention – _Ganymede and Callisto, or what the moons of Jupiter can tell us_ , it said.

Padma remembered that these specific moons weren't even in the curriculum for her N.E.W.T.-level classes - so they would surely not be needed for the U.T.Z. either. But, she supposed that if anything, it would be this article that managed to bring her mood back up.

* * *

Stage 4: Actual Preparation

Padma was leaning over her desk, her head buried in her open textbook. Beside her was a cup of simmering coffee and an empty jug – which had contained milk before it was poured in the coffee – which she would occasionally take a sip from. The sun was beaming through the window, shedding light on both her and the notes that were scribbled down in the margin of her book.

 _They can change the locks, but don't let them change your mind,_ it said.

She had almost forgotten about this particular quote; she hadn't heard it since she had moved out of her childhood home after the war.

Now she remembered; her father used to say this to her whenever she mentioned her enthusiasm towards Astronomy. He had always thought that the subject was a good opportunity for her to broaden her horizons, but he had always seemed to be afraid that it would avert her attention from other, 'more sensible' classes. Her father had always been a quite rational man; Padma supposed it must have been painful for him to watch his daughters turn to such mysterious subjects – Parvati to Divination and herself to Astronomy.

Still, as much as she appreciated the sudden sentiment from finding the quote in the margin of her textbook, Padma was glad that she once again had the appetite to study for her exams, and without many afterthoughts, she delved into the topic about the phases of the Moon once again.

* * *

Stage 5: Taking the Exam

"Parvati, I'm so nervous," Padma breathed on the morning of her long-awaited entry exam. "What if I fail? This is a golden opportunity, and if I can't get this right, I'll… I don't know where I would go without this!"

"You'll be fine, sis'," Parvati replied, placing a hand on her twin's shoulder. "If you're not able to ace this test, then no one is."

"But I have so many contestants!" Padma argued. "I'm sure there's someone who's a better choice than me. I'm sure I'll mess it all up anyway; I can't function under pressure."

"Do you want me to cast a calming charm on you?" Parvati asked, reaching for her wand.

"Yes, that would be nice," Padma nodded, her hands still shaking slightly.

" _Tranquillum_ ," Parvati muttered, and in an instant, a sudden rush of peace washed over Padma. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you," Padma said before glancing at the clock above her bed. "Oh, I'll have to go, or I'll be running late. See you after I'm done?"

"Sure," Parvati smiled softly. "I'm positive you're going to do perfectly. Good luck."

* * *

 **Note:**

 **U.T.Z. (Unheimlich Toller Zauberer) - The German version/translation of the N.E.W.T. exam. (source: HP Wiki)  
**

 **Tranquillum - self-invented spell, means 'calm' in Latin.**


	3. Cunning Like a Slytherin, Brave Like a

**Beta love: Huge thanks and virtual cookies to Kefalion and LitteMissXanda for betaing, and also collectively my team (especially Kefalion, LittleMissXanda and Clairebear1982) for helping me with fleshing this story out. You guys are my saviours :)**

 **QLFC Round 3:**

Collective team prompt: Wasp(s)

Optional prompts:

4\. (word) varnish

7\. (word) destiny

14\. (quote) "Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud." - Maya Angelou

Word count: 1501-1750

 **Enjoy**.

* * *

 **Cunning Like a Slytherin, Brave Like a Wasp**

 _Word count: 1576_

Holding his breath, Theo pressed his back deeper into the cold wall behind him, his arms tightening around the body beside him.

It was damp and humid behind the tapestry on the fifth floor corridor; Theo supposed it would have been better to be anywhere else in this bloody castle, however, it was also the only place he knew where no one would find them.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, and a small whimpering sound came from the student beside the older Slytherin.

"Don't make a sound," Theo whispered. "Trust me; no one can find us if we keep quiet."

His words seemed to quieten the second year Slytherin girl, although the boy could still feel his companion trembling slightly.

Surprisingly enough, Theo could genuinely relate to the surge of fear that was probably racing through the girl beside him. They had just escaped the upcoming terror of the Carrow twins after Lyanna – the second year Slytherin – refused to sit through the torture of her housemate. She had fled the DADA classroom and, fortunately for her, bumped into Theo, who'd had a free period at the time, on her way to the dungeons.

He'd made a rash decision when he decided to help Lyanna out; presumably, he wouldn't have if it weren't for the fear in her eyes when she locked her gaze on him.

Having been directly exposed to the reign of the Death Eaters this school year, Theo's opinion on how the magical society was supposed to work was wavering greatly. His father had always to told him that eradicating filthy blood would be for the greater good – Theo had been raised to follow these views, and he had compiled for so long, even though, he had at least been wise enough to distance himself from his most outspoken housemates, such as Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. He had always been a loner with disdain and antipathy towards other people; he had also believed that it would be his destiny to watch everything crash and burn without actually contributing if it came down to a war. Unlike his father, Theo was not aspiring to climb the alleged social ladder of the Death Eaters; he was going to be fine by himself in a shadowy corner, carrying out missions all alone, excelling in other aspects of magic, rather than Dark Arts. Now, though, the mark on his forearm burned his skin with greater intensity than ever before, making him feel like this so-called destiny of his was something he should have avoided rather than surrendering to his family's wishes.

Having to listen to the terrified screams of his peers on an almost daily basis seemed to have lifted this shade that had been shrouding his vision of the world. Beforehand, it had been as if everything he saw was covered by a thick layer of golden varnish, hiding the ugly truth from view. What had happened to him since this September had ripped off this varnish, and although it was a dangerous gamble to take, he'd decided that he would protect his younger housemates from the shadows. He wasn't humble enough to lower himself to the level of other houses, but his conscience always got the better of him when it came to the snakes.

A content feeling bubbled up in his chest whenever he saw a younger Slytherin's somewhat grateful expression, even if it was only for a minute as it was usually buried under the worry and the helplessness.

"What's your favourite animal?" came the small voice of Lyanna from under Theo's arm.

"Why'd you ask?" the boy answered absentmindedly, his senses still focused on detecting any noise coming from outside the tapestry.

"I just… I just wanted to fill the silence," the blond girl admitted, "while we wait for them to go away."

"I see," Theo nodded. He wanted to have something to distract him from the stuffy atmosphere, with the pang of fear that still lingered in his abdomen. He understood Lyanna's need of noise to fill the silence with, maybe even more so than he would have cared to admit. "Well, I think my favourite animal is the eagle. It's very observant and precise. I also think eagles look uniquely majestic while flying."

"I like eagles too, but I like wasps better, to be honest," Lyanna noted.

"Why wasps? Aren't they just like regular bees?" the older boy inquired, glancing momentarily at his companion.

"They're bigger," the girl explained. "Although, that's not quite why I like them. I like wasps because even though they are little and people disregard them a lot, their sting hurts twice as much, and they're not afraid of showing their strength to those they don't like."

"Don't wasps die if they sting someone, though?" Theo mused. "I heard if they lose their stingers, they die."

"I don't know," Lyanna shook her head. "Don't you think it's courageous of them to sting someone then? They're not afraid of possibly dying while protecting themselves, so they face their enemies head on. It sounds very Gryffindor-ish, but I kind of want to be like wasps. At least, I don't want to be afraid anymore. Fear prevents me from being sneaky and cunning like a true Slytherin."

"Fear can be a surprisingly effective motivation," the older boy rebutted. "If you never fear anything, you'll rush blindly into situations you'd otherwise have steered clear of. You become more sharp, more cautious, because your choice actually matters and your valued possessions may be at a stake. It's not a bad thing to be afraid sometimes; there's no point in fearing fear itself."

"Are you afraid now?" the girl asked quietly, in such a low voice that Theo nearly couldn't catch it.

"... I am." He nodded after a bit of hesitation. He didn't talk about his feelings all that often – well, never, actually – so he wasn't certain if showing his true colours would would be a good choice. Before he could think the better of it, though, he continued. "If the Carrows find me, I'll be in serious trouble," he didn't want to say dead; there was no point in frightening the little girl any more. "Say, do you want to hear a story? It's about one of my previous encounters with wasps."

"Sure," Lyanna said. "What happened?"

"When I was little," Theo started, "I had an uncle who would come over to our Manor from time to time. He was a little bit loony, I think. One day, he brought an enlarged wasp with him to our home, for reasons I'm still not aware of. All I know is that I had always been afraid of bugs until then, so when I glimpsed the wasp – which was no shorter than a metre – I went and locked myself up in my bedroom, refusing to come out until my uncle apparated away with the beast. I still sometimes shudder at the thought of it. Yes, even nowadays! Although, I'm not that terrified at the thought of bugs anymore. When I think back on it, I find it a little bit embarrassing, but I also find it to be a useful experience."

"I see," Lyanna nodded. As she went silent, Theo took notice of another pair of shoes clicking in the hallway, presumably heading towards the tapestry they were hiding behind.

Soon, the echoes stopped right in front of where the two Slytherins were hidden. Theo could feel another pull of fear in his stomach, his arms instinctively bringing his housemate closer. His fingers edged closer to his wand holster, gripping his yew wand in preparation for a possible confrontation.

"Who's there?" the voice, which Theo recognized to belong to Alecto Carrow, came from the other side of the tapestry.

The Slytherin could hear Lyanna choke back a whimper by gulping, and, fearing the worst, Theo pulled his wand out and casted a quick and wordless Disillusionment Charm on the two of them. He could still somewhat feel the suspicious eyes of the Muggle Studies professor on him, even through the layer of varnish, paint and linen, so he positioned his wand ahead as quietly as he could.

Not many moments passed before he could hear an unconvinced 'hmpf' and the clattering of shoes once again, this time, heading away from Theo and Lyanna.

"Do you think we should head back to the Common Room?" the blond witch asked with a small voice after a brief period of time had passed.

"Let me check if anyone's out there," Theo replied, raising his wand slightly. " _Homenum Revelio_ ," he muttered, and only slumped his otherwise stiff shoulders when visibly nothing happened. "No one's in this corridor anymore. Do you think you can manage to sneak down without the Disillusionment Charm on you?"

Lyanna nodded hastily.

"Off you go, then," Theo motioned for the girl after he removed the charm. "Be safe."

"Thank you," Lyanna mumbled, slowly backing out from behind the tapestry.

Long minutes passed after she had left, and Theo spent it contemplating. There was an unidentifiable bubbly feeling in the pit of his stomach, forcing a small smile onto his face despite the rather grave circumstances he had lived through that day.

Even though it was a high-risk low-reward act on his part, Theo knew it was what he was supposed to do. Maybe it was worth trying to be a rainbow in someone's cloud, after all.


	4. Colours Change

**A/N: This is horrible and I know it. I had no time to write it because of my finals and even when I did, it was scorching hot, my brain was melting and I couldn't concentrate. I'm sorry. Damn. Also, if you squint, Luna/Harry.**

 **Beta love: Huge thanks and virtual cookies for my amazing teammates. Namely, LittleMissXanda for somewhat helping me out with the plot and betaing, Kefalion for betaing the shit out of it (otherwise, it would've been even more horrible) and agentmoppet for betaing.**

 **QLFC** : Round 4 - Collective Prompt: Write in a creature's POV (chosen creature: thestral)

Optional prompts:

1\. (word) soul

5\. (quote) "Not all who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

6\. (word) Stygian

(Notey note: Dilys is a Welsh name, means "genuine", and Mabyn is also a welsh name, meaning "youth")

 **The Eurovision Song Contest Competition** : (word) alone /United Kingdom/

 **Word count:** 1762 (provided by MS Word)

* * *

The first time Dilys saw her wandering through the Forest, she sensed something blue. The girl's aura was a deep hue of midnight blue—the colour of gloom. Dilys couldn't quite understand how a little girl—somewhere between her childhood and adulthood, it seemed—could have been so melancholic, and she found that she wanted to help this girl, for her smile to become genuine, for her colour to lighten.

The girl wore a small, dreamy smile on her face; Dilys, however, could see through it. On the inside, the girl's soul was broken into a million pieces. Dilys wondered why, and she also wondered what or who could have done that to the girl. Regrettably, it was unlikely that Dilys would ever know. No animals or humans ever talked to Stygian creatures like her. Her kind was deemed hellish and thought of as bringers of doom; it was because they were visible only if one had witnessed death. They were destined to remain alone, hidden in the shadows, away from prying eyes.

And as such, what surprised her was when the little, blond-haired girl drew closer to her, holding a piece of bloody meat in her right hand. The human's eyes sparkled with interest—interest that Dilys had never seen before. Not even the sorrow inside the girl could make the cheerful smile on her face cease.

"I'm Luna," said the girl, stretching her right hand forward.

Dilys eyed the girl—apparently named Luna—and lowered her head, taking the meat. It tasted better than she had thought it would, so she neighed in delight, which made the smile on the girl's face stretch. It seemed that even her blue mood faded a little as well. Accepting the meat seemed to brighten the girl's aura already, which Dilys took as a positive sign.

"Many people say I should stay away from creatures like you; others say you don't even exist," said Luna. "I never believed either of them."

The girl made Dilys confused with her words. She was kind, surprisingly kind for someone with such sadness within them.

"I think you're pretty," the human continued. "You and your kind are outcasts, just like me, but isn't that what makes us unique?"

Stunned by her words, Dilys froze right where she stood. She never thought of it that way.

"You can also understand what I say, it seems," Luna mused. "I wonder if you heard what we were talking about while we rode in the carriages as well. Harry was frightened—probably because he didn't yet understand. Look, I have to go back to the Castle before curfew, but I promise I'll be back sometime. It was nice to meet you."

Luna then rushed away, back out of the Forbidden Forest and through the Hogwarts Grounds, leaving Dilys to follow her and her still blue aura with her gaze until the shadows consumed her in the distance.

~oOo~

Over the next couple of months, she and Luna met often; Luna would tell stories about her life while Dilys would scrutinise her for any changes of colour in her aura. Most of the time, it was still deep blue, although Dilys noticed that it would always be a bit brighter after each visit.

One time, months after their first meeting, Luna came to meet her, Dilys wasn't alone, but with her infant child Mabyn. The girl's aura wasn't as deep of a blue as it had been the first time they had met; it was somewhat closer to a turquoise shade now—blue and green. Calmness mixed with sorrow was emitting out of her.

Soon, another human joined her, one who Dilys recognised as Harry, the boy Luna had been talking about. He was a dull shade of grey, the colour of depression and despair. Dilys, while watching her daughter eating a piece of meat, stole a glance at the boy. The boy seemed quite distant, although she knew he could see both her and her child. Dilys supposed it must have been because of his colour.

However, Luna's aura changed somewhat as soon as she looked at him. Her turquoise colour became more green-tinted. Dilys couldn't help but wonder how the boy was able to calm the girl.

Thestrals couldn't read relationships between other species, after all, despite them being able to see auras. Not that there would be a need for it, although, Dilys wished she could see them now. She wanted to understand Luna's relationship with the boy and maybe even help her, if needed.

"You're just as sane as I am." The older thestral could hear Luna say to the boy, who—it seemed—was not comforted by her words. Although, he did inch a little bit closer to Dilys and Mabyn.

If nothing else, it made Dilys even more curious about humans.

~oOo~

Between then and the Battle of Hogwarts, Dilys and Luna met quite often; sometimes, only days would pass between visits. Other times, it would be weeks.

In the autumn of Luna's sixth year, though—or so she claimed—a worryingly long time passed before the girl came to Dilys, and even then, Luna had told her that it was impossible for them to meet, not while the reign of the current Headmaster lasted. So, they didn't meet. Not for months.

After then, Dilys remained alone and secluded in the Forest, raising her child in the shadows, her trust in Luna fading with each and every passing day. At the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, her trust in the human species had already been broken. Because of that, even as she heard the herd of Death Eaters marching through the Forest, she never edged closer to them, not letting her curiosity to get the better of her. She wanted to find out what had happened to Luna badly; she cared for her, and she still wanted to see if the girl's colour remained untainted, even though the girl had not been a good friend in the past months. Rather than following the humans, however, she did everything she could to hide Mabyn from them. More than anything, she wanted her child safe from all those witches and wizards.

And still, as the Battle went on and on, she could always hear distant screams and shouts piercing through the air, reaching all the way into the depths of the forest. She could feel the death of many people, and then many more. Even from such a distance, she could see the auras: red, black and grey—anger, grief and desperation. It was possibly the worst mixture of feelings she had ever encountered.

The truth was that she wanted to go and help her friend despite her wariness towards humans. Luna meant a lot to Dilys—she meant her hope. She was the only friend she had ever had outside of her herd, whom she barely had any connection with anyway. Still, she couldn't leave Mabyn alone. Her child hadn't even lived for three Midsummer's Days, which meant she wasn't yet strong enough to hide on her own, and Dilys, like any other thestral, valued her blood over everything else.

Thestrals were rare creatures; they had to protect themselves, no matter how much it cost.

And so, as much as it pained her to do so, Dilys remained hidden in the woods, watching the Battle from afar, praying for the stars for her to survive.

~oOo~

Another year or so passed before she saw the blond-haired witch again. Dilys had been watching over Mabyn again, who was trying out her wings for the first time, when she heard the twigs and leaves rustle from behind her, revealing a now eighteen-year-old girl, standing beside the boy named Harry, whom Dilys had met only once before.

Luna's aura was duller than usual, as was her smile, which had always been cheery. Her eyes spoke of unspoken grief and suppressed despair, even as she neared Dilys and Mabyn. Luna held meat in her right hand, as per usual, and was dragging the boy along towards them with the other.

"It's been long since we've last met," she said, throwing the food in front of Mabyn, patting Dilys with her left hand. "Nothing's stopping me from visiting now and I'm feeling better. Don't worry. I hope you do as well. It must have been strange for you to have so many prying eyes on you in September—I can understand. A lot of people died. Though, I guess you know that already. We've all been coping, though. Right, Harry?"

"I… I guess," the boy replied, scratching the back of his head.

"I recently realised that I never gave you a name," Luna continued absentmindedly. "I suppose you already have a name, but you never told me what it was. I want to name you Aderyn. It means bird in Welsh, and I think it fits you. You're just like a bird, flying majestically across the sky. I'd name your child Nerys. I found these names in my sixth year, while I couldn't come and see you, and it made me think about you two. Are you happy with it?"

Dilys neighed. She had no other way of telling her how delighted she was. After all, it seemed that the girl cared about Dilys as much as the thestral cared about her, and her visits weren't out of necessity, but out of companionship. Dilys could only imagine how her aura must have looked at that moment.

Luna nodded. "I'm glad you like it. See, I and Harry have to go soon; I'm having my graduation ceremony later today. But I wanted to see you once more before I leave Hogwarts behind. I thought about it a lot, and I think it's time for me to move on."

At that moment, Dilys knew that she would probably never see the girl again. She had moved on, it seemed, even if it meant that only the memory of the girl would remain for the thestral. Dilys sensed a feeling of melancholy emitting from the girl as well—it was a light shade of brown.

"Goodbye, Aderyn," Luna said finally, after what seemed like hours. "I hope you can find your place soon."

Dilys watched as the girl dragged the boy with her, out of the woods.

 _Maybe she hasn't found her place yet,_ Dilys thought of the young witch as she glanced at Mabyn to be sure of her safety, _but not all who wander are lost, and not all who're lonely are alone._


	5. From Jealousy to Kinship

**A/N: Have I told you that I like letter fics? Because I goddamn do ;)  
**

 **Love: Thanks to my little brother (who's otherwise an annoying git) for giving me an idea for a particular point of this story. Also for my amazing teammate, Ellen (agentmoppet).**

 **Beta love: Thanks to my amazing teammates, Ellen (agentmoppet), Xanda (LittleMissXanda) and Frida (Kefalion) for helping me straighten this story out; you guys are awesome :)**

 **Word count: 1630 (provided by MS Word)**

 **QLFC Round 5** : Hogwarts Box – (scenario) A character comes to Hogwarts at fourteen instead of eleven.

 _Bonus prompts:_

4\. (style) letter fic

11\. (word) atmosphere

14\. (colour) cherry

 **The Mysterious Challenge** : Round 3 - Write a Ravenclaw AU for a non-Ravenclaw character featuring the word mysterious.

* * *

 **From Jealousy to Kinship**

 _Dear Heather,_

 _My first day back at Hogwarts was good, though a bit unusual. At the Opening Feast, it was announced that instead of Quidditch, there would be a tournament of some kind, held at the school throughout the year. I can't quite remember what was said about it because I tuned out after it was revealed that you wouldn't be eligible to enter under the age of seventeen. Such a shame, if you ask me. Not that I would've been interested, per se, but I know for a fact that Fay was. Lauren and I had to listen to her huffing and puffing about not being able to try out for the Quidditch team. It's these times when I feel a strange kind of empathy towards Hermione._

 _In other news, Dumbledore also introduced two new students at the Feast. As if the commotion wasn't enough already. The Headmaster told us that the set of twins, named… Parvati and Padma, I think, would be joining us, fourth years. Then, it was revealed that they were to be Ravenclaws. Both of them. I was itching to tag along with them after the Feast to discover the reason for their… transfer? Late arrival? Something like that. However, I couldn't because right after dinner had ended, Lauren dragged me away to discuss how handsome Dean Thomas has become over the summer. I agree with her, by the way; he really has._

 _I'll try to find out more about these mysterious twins soon. Until then, tell Mum I'm doing fine and that she shouldn't worry about my diet; I promise I'm keeping to it._

 _See you later, Sis,_

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _Thanks for the bottle of Sleekeazy you've sent—my hair's been a bloody mess without it. I'll try to see what I can send you back when I next go to Hogsmeade; until then, I hope this letter will do._

 _Anyway, I have told you about the set of twins who were sorted in September, right? I've tried to talk with them once or twice when we had Divination together, but the conversations seemed… somewhat empty. It felt as if something was missing, which is a shame, really. Lauren has told me not to worry about it and that it's not a big deal if I don't make friends with Ravenclaws anyway, but something is bugging me about them. Of course, I can't tell that to Lauren—I'm not keen on being seen as a weirdo. Still, something is telling me I should try to get closer to the twins. Maybe it's the atmosphere around them? I have no idea. Do you suppose it's connected to the dream I told you about before I went to Hogwarts? You know, the one with the endless knots in them? Maybe I should tell Professor Trelawney about it._

 _Otherwise, guess what? I received an O for my first Charms assignment. Isn't that amazing news?_

 _Tell Mum I miss her. Talk to you later,_

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _Turns out I hate those Ravenclaw twins. They always finish each other's sentences, and whenever I see them, they're giggling about something I assume is an inside joke. Last week, for example, I was stressing about an upcoming Divination exam, so whenever those two went by, I genuinely felt like scowling. Each and every time I see them, I can feel knots pooling in my stomach and I involuntarily clench my fists._

 _What's the most frustrating thing about it is that I still can't see the reason why. Not even Trelawney could provide me with any advice. I'm feeling desperate while I shouldn't. I'm wary of telling Lauren or Fay as well because surely, they don't have the same problem, and if word got out, my reputation would go down the toilet. That's how I feel, at least._

 _Can you give me some advice, pretty please?_

 _Until next time,_

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _I think I managed to figure out the problem, and it dawned on me after a talk I had with Lauren. She told me she had wanted to hex this Hufflepuff girl into next Sunday because Dean only had eyes for her and not Lauren, so I replied by saying she should probably reconsider her plan of getting Dean. I told her that if she wanted it to work, she should get over her jealousy and make Dean jealous instead._

 _Then, a thought hit me. What if I had been jealous the whole time? See, I never had a twin with whom I could be best friends with, but until now, it didn't bother me. Then, a pair of twins enter the school at fourteen instead of eleven—which is ridiculous in itself—and they make me realise that I want to have someone I can share everything with._

 _And I hate these twins for having something I don't. It's stupid, really._

 _Pretty please, can you help me?_

 _Thanks,_

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _You'll never guess what happened last week. It's completely outrageous._

 _Guess who I was paired with for my next Divination assignment? Parvati Patil, one of the new girls. Of course. I had decided a couple of days before that I would move on from the topic and ignore the two Ravenclaws, but certainly, that won't work now._

 _I doubt she even likes Divination! It's literally the only subject I want to excel in—unlike the likes of Hermione—and now even that's destroyed. Can you see what I'm talking about? This is really frustrating. I don't want to work with her; however, I don't want to disappoint Professor Trelawney either by asking for a new partner._

 _What do I do?_

 _I could really do with some sisterly advice._

 _Thanks in advance,_

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _I don't know what to do. This whole situation with the Patil twins is freaking me out and everything's unclear. I can't for the life of me figure out my feelings and… I don't know. I really don't._

 _It's like… Being caught up in a whirlpool, I think? I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what to think, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know._

 _Please, help me…_

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _Thanks for your last letter. It really helped me to calm down a bit. You know, I had been freaking out before, but I think it's better now. I can't say my problem resolved, but at least I don't feel as conflicted as I had before. Thank you._

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _I may have been wrong about this Parvati girl the whole time. Preposterous, right? Believe me when I say this, but I have my reasons for changing my opinion so fast. Let me just start from the beginning._

 _At first, I was sceptical about the assignment we had to write. The theme of our assignment was Contacting Spirits Through Various Means, so I thought that if Parvati was up to it, we could try some of the methods to see how they work. Turns out she has an Ouija Board at home, which she has already tried with Padma once, and told me we could use it again if I wanted to. Isn't that amazing? I've never seen an actual Ouija Board, so I jumped at the opportunity._

 _Then, she told me about some of the often-used methods in India. Did you know how many kind of rituals there are? I myself was surprised. Parvati told me it was not a big deal, though, because she had always liked Divination, and that way back, when her family was still living in India, she would always skim through some of the books in her parents' library because she found them interesting. She told me that if I wanted to, she would show me those books as well. All this, coming from a Ravenclaw. Something I never would have guessed, for sure._

 _Also, did you know that she and Padma came to Hogwarts this year because previously, their family had been travelling around the world, and decided to settle only now? And that Parvati's favourite colour is cherry? You know, cherry is also my favourite colour, especially when it comes to dresses. In connection with that, we talked about the upcoming Yule Ball. About that, I know I already have a dress you've chosen for me, but I really want to buy a cherry-coloured one; do you know any good shops?_

 _To be fair, I feel a tad bit guilty for having hated Parvati for no reason. Should I tell her about it? Or should I keep it all to myself? I mean, I could talk to Lauren or Fay, but that's not the same._

 _Once again, I'm asking for some advice. Sorry for bothering you this much._

 _See you later,_

 _Lavender_

 _~oOo~_

 _Dear Heather,_

 _I decided to tell Parvati about my initial thoughts about her and Padma. The reason behind this is that I wanted to be honest with her as a friend. Fortunately, she laughed it off. It was a relief as if a weight had been lifted off my chest._

 _I also introduced her to Lauren and Fay. Both of them seemed to like her._

 _In hindsight, doesn't this whole friendship thing sound unlikely? I mean, she's a Ravenclaw, I'm a Gryffindor, and if that wasn't enough, she came to the school late—it's not like I didn't have any friends before her, so it wasn't even a life changing event or anything._

 _Either way, I'm glad it happened. Also, next time, remind me that being jealous is dumb._

 _And tell Mum I'm sorry for not being able to come home for Christmas. I can't miss the Yule Ball; I hope you understand._

 _Talk to you soon,_

 _Lavender_


	6. We're All Monsters, After All

Beta love: Huge thanks and virtual cookies to Kefalion (Frida) and agentmoppet (Ellen) for betaing, and LittleMissXanda for helping me with the story.  
Word count: 1505 (according to Google Docs)

QLFC Round 6/span - Deadly Sins and Heavenly Virtues  
Chaser 3: Write about a light character committing the sin of WRATH or a dark character demonstrating the virtue of FORGIVENESS.  
Bonus prompts:  
3\. (word) favour  
11\. (word) risk  
13\. (word) therapy

* * *

Cold.

Freezing cold seeped under Theo's skin, piercing through his bones. It filled him with an icy mixture of fear and worry; it made him feel as if a Dementor was looking over his head. He reached for the doorknob which felt equally cold to his insides, turning it until he heard the click of the door, granting him entrance into the office.

Inside, a rather desolate landscape greeted him. There were no colourful paintings on the walls, only the rigid, somewhat faded furnishing was sparse: a pair of cabinets made out of steel, and a huge oak table. Behind it sat a slightly balding man, looking to be in his forties, writing what looked to be an official Ministry report. Theo took a deep breath, stepped forward and took the seat on the other side of the table.

"Father," he said, his voice strong yet laced with an almost unnoticeable uncertainty.

"Yes, Theodore?"

"I have a favour to ask of you," Theo exclaimed and continued right after "I am yet to think of what I could give you in return, but I hope you can understand. I am afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I feel as if I'm not ready to join the ranks of the Dark Lord. I know you wished for me to join them next August, but if you trust my judgement, I would like to ask you to attest to this decision." It was a half-truth on Theo's part. He was afraid, yes, but even more so, his heart wasn't fully in it. Having been taught to always be objective when making a decision, Theo couldn't see the benefit of being a Death Eater.

Besides, he was not too keen on risking his life for something he did not believe in.

"That is an… Interesting decision," Mr Nott said after what seemed like hours of silence, his piercing blue eyes scrutinising the boy closely. "Either way, this secret of yours will be in safe hands with me."

Theo bowed his head. What he received as answer was already more than he had thought he would.

~oOo~

Stagnation.

In the coming months, every new day felt like a breath of fresh air for Theo Nott. He let himself focus on his schoolwork and friends, managing to quieten the nagging voice in the back of his head that urged him not to ignore the permanent grey clouds that seemed to loom over other people, as per a side-effect of the War.

For possibly the first time in his short life, Theo decided to be selfish and put his own happiness ahead of everything else.

It felt surprisingly good.

What a shame nothing good lasts forever.

~oOo~

Betrayal.

Pain coursed through every bit of Theo's body, making him scream inwardly—because he couldn't let the torture show on his face. What kept him from screaming out loud was the feeling of utter desperation that hit him as soon as he caught a glimpse of his father, sitting at the far end of the table, no emotions marring his slightly wrinkled face.

It wasn't the pain that made Theo desperate for solace, though. More like, it was the emotional scar of having been betrayed by his own father.

An overwhelming urge to curse the older Nott into next Sunday filled Theo for a moment, after the pain in his forearm had subsided somewhat. However, as quickly as it had come, the urge was gone. Theodore Nott was raised to be, and proudly was, a rational thinker; it would have been foolish of him to let blind hate and revenge lead him.

What made matters even worse was that it wasn't really betrayal. His father never told the Dark Lord about Theo's fears of becoming a Death Eater—quite the contrary, the older Nott had described his son as a 'capable young man, who's eager to join the group.'

But that, of course, didn't help Theo's case. He wanted to speak with his father. Theo wasn't quite sure how or about what, but if he knew one thing, it was that he needed to talk to the older Nott.

That is, after he had found a way to deal with his pent up frustration.

With that plan in mind, Theo once again glanced in the general direction of his father, only to find an empty chair where he had previously been sitting.

Though, Theo figured, that talk could wait for a while.

~oOo~

Scars.

When he was a child, Theo's mother would always tell him that the first time is the best, so he should appreciate the little wonders of the world when he experienced them for the first time. But then, she died in a mysterious accident, leaving Theo and his father behind to carry on living by this philosophy.

This sentiment died for Theo when he finished his first mission as a Death Eater, much like the woman who had taught it to him. Having seen so many people die, having seen the destruction that he and his peers caused, he couldn't help but think of what his mother had tried to teach him, but as soon as it came to his mind, it was thrown in the metaphorical garbage can.

Something deep inside him cracked on that very day, never to be the same again.

~oOo~

Darkness.

With a wave of his wand, Theo forced the Muggle man in front of him to his knees. The boy's fingers danced around his cherry wand in a monotonous fashion, mirroring his face, which was just as expressionless as his dim eyes. He couldn't be fazed by the pitiful gazes of people on the other end of his wand—the past months had killed whatever kindness, whatever humanity he had left, or so it seemed. The light in his eyes had long since faded; he was barely more than a puppet anymore. All that reminded him of his identity was the unadulterated rage that threatened to come to the surface of his mind, directed mostly at his father for pushing Theo under the bus. However, he always thought the better of it, and his mind would go blank again, numbing his senses, keeping him from breaking down from the terror that he lived through as per his daily routine.

Life wasn't worth much, but whatever force it was that kept Theo from giving up, it was strong enough to keep him going deeper and deeper down in this hole of darkness.

~oOo~

Bittersweet.

A mixture of colourful hexes and curses whizzed right by Theo's ear, sharpening his senses. He caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking black robe— _Yaxley_ , he thought—so he sent a silent hex his way after making sure nobody saw him doing it. What he was doing was high-risk, low-reward, but as long as it worked, nobody would know of his true intentions.

As soon as he saw the fellow Death Eater hit the ground, he made a full turn to face an Order member whose name Theo hadn't cared to learn. As he was about to send a hex his enemy's way, he was struck on the side by a stray spell that sent him falling onto the ground, groaning in pain.

"Who the hell-" he muttered but was interrupted by a deeper but still awfully familiar voice.

"Get up, son!" His father's voice came from his right.

"Father?" Theo asked with a puzzled expression. He hadn't had the time to talk to him since his induction the previous August. Theo wouldn't go home for the Christmas holidays, nor would he write home either. "Did you just curse me?"

"I may have, but believe me: If I didn't, you would be in even more pain." The older man pointed at another person near Theo, who was currently bleeding from several wounds.

"You saved me? But why?" Theo asked, his voice more high-pitched than ever.

"I pride myself in keeping to favours," came the answer, "even if I have to risk myself for it."

Theo sighed. There was no point in cursing his father for what he did anymore. Sometimes, mercy was the best way to go. "I accept the apology. But you know just as well as I do: Notts may forgive, but they never forget."

"I know."

It was only later, when Theo saw his father fall dead by the Killing Curse, that he realized that he really had forgiven him.

~oOo~

Recovery.

"Is that all, Mr Nott?" came the voice of Theo's counsellor as soon as the Nott scion was finished with his story.

His throat was a little hoarse, and his tongue felt dry, like sandpaper, so he merely nodded.

"Well, I'm glad you finally gathered the courage to tell me all of this; I appreciate it."

Theo nodded again.

"Before we end this therapy session, may I ask a question?"

"Yes," Theo managed to croak out.

"Why did you forgive your father? What he did was terrible, wasn't it?"

"It was," Theo mused. "But we're all monsters, after all."


	7. Addicted

**A/N: I've been itching to write this pairing, to be honest. Also, nothing that isn't strictly canon (like the War itself) is canon in any way (I guess you'll see). Also, this story is a mess because it was finished somewhat before 2 AM and I had no idea what I was writing. Anyway. Enjoy!**

 **Huge thanks and virtual cookies to Queen Bookworm the First (Queenie/Sanchita), petethehotdog (Pete), and Firediva0 (Kristen) for helping with the story, and special cookies to isaacswolfsbane (Ned/My Alternative Self) for keeping me awake while finalising my idea xD**

 **Beta love: Another batch of virtual cookies go Queen Bookworm the First (Queenie/Sanchita), LittleMissXanda (Xanda), and agentmoppet (Ellen) for being awesome and helping this mess of a story :)**

 **Word count: 2181 (according to MS Word)**

 **QLFC Round 7** : H.M.S Overworked & Under-appreciated – Blaise/Hermione

Bonus prompts:

· 8. (word) addicted

· 14. (dialogue) "This isn't safe… or legal, for that matter."

· 15. (word) scarf

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry** : Music History Assignment #1 – Melody task: Write about a member of the Golden Trio.

* * *

 **Addicted**

Everybody is addicted to something—alcohol, drugs, another person, or a certain activity or object. These addictions are part of what makes us ourselves, shaping us into who we are. They are there, in the back of our minds when we make decisions, when we interact with each other, when we live our daily lives.

In Blaise Zabini's life, these life-dictating addictions were his own memories. Memories of destruction, of death and gore, of that familiar feeling of icy fear in the pit of his stomach—fear for his and his peers' lives. Even though the war had ended over three years ago, he still had the instincts that sharpened his senses whenever he heard a strange noise, and of course, that inner urge to hex the person nearest to him while he tried to merge into a crowd.

Over the years, he had somewhat accepted that the remnants of these memories would stay with him until the end. Not attempting to get rid of the past that haunted him had turned his life into a hollow shell of what it used to be. Every colour he saw seemed duller than before. The motions of his days were almost automatic, and it was hard for him to find solace in anything, really. Sad, some would call it.

As such, he wasn't quite sure how or why he ended up in that particular Muggle cemetery on that particular day, staring at his second stepfather's tomb in his comfortable bubble of silence for what felt like hours. Yes, the weather was terrible, the cloudy sky painting the scenery grey and gloomy, and still, it felt fitting.

Blaise didn't expect anyone—or anything—to turn up and interrupt his lonesomeness, but he couldn't help noticing a glimpse of something gold—which wasn't a frequent colour in a graveyard. Interest having been sparked, he strolled closer, and soon saw that it was a gold-red striped— _Gryffindor-coloured_ , he thought—scarf. The bright colours of the cloth stood out to Blaise; it felt somewhat… misplaced.

 _Must not have been out under the sky for long_ , he concluded.

Slowly, he reached for the scarf, the soft fabric feeling foreign against his calloused fingers as he pulled it closer. The sweet scent of a mixture of cinnamon and apples hit his nostrils as soon as he started scrutinising the scarf for any clues about its owner. Having not found any names on the cloth, Blaise decided that he'd better just leave it on the grave, hoping that the owner would find it sooner or later, when he caught a glimpse of a name on a nearby gravestone.

 _Granger._

The name was all too familiar—after all, who hadn't heard of the Brain of the Golden Trio, Hermione Granger? Not that Blaise was ever close to the girl, per se. Yet, it wasn't an everyday occurrence that more than one witch or wizard had a relative rest in the same graveyard. So, his intrigue got the better of him as his eyes scanned over the tombstone's carvings.

 _Jane Margaret Granger_

 _1957–1998_

Blaise's initial thoughts were that it must have been Granger's mother, and that was the reason why she had visited the graveyard on this particular day. Of course, her mother was a Muggle, so she'd be buried in a place like this.

Before he could finish his thoughts, though, a voice interrupted him.

"She died on this day, three years ago," a shaky female voice said, and as Blaise spun around, he saw Hermione Granger herself, her hands crossed in front of her body, which was slightly shaking from… something. Either the cold or suppressed sobs—Blaise didn't know.

"Sorry for your loss," was all Blaise managed to answer. His own voice felt somewhat foreign to him—it had been a long time since he'd talked to anyone.

"No, it's okay. I just… I guess I just wanted some alone time," said Hermione, sighing.

"I didn't want to interrupt you or anything. I just…"

Hermione shook her head. "I was just about to go anyway; don't worry. I'll see you later." Just like that, she Disapparated with a soft pop.

Blaise, not having fully comprehended what had just happened, moved his gaze down onto the brightly coloured scarf.

She forgot it.

After a moment spent deep in thought, Blaise tucked the cloth into the pocket of his leather jacket, and with a newfound motivation to take it back to its owner, he made his way out of the cemetery.

~oOo~

Throughout the next few weeks, Blaise would often catch a glimpse of Hermione, more often than not, while at work in the Ministry. Blaise worked at the Department of International Magical Cooperation as an intern, which wasn't the best job he could imagine, but it was certainly better than nothing. Despite his neutral stance in the war, he had it almost as hard as former Dark Side supporters when searching for a job. Most of the time, his day consisted of the same, boring tasks, which he would do almost automatically. It was only during his lunch breaks that he would see the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

Every time he saw her, after a moment of hesitation, he would decide to approach her, only to find that she had already disappeared. Through the Floo Network, in the elevator, or anywhere else. He could search for her all he wished, but he would never find her.

Some other times, he would see her walking down Diagon Alley, or ordering a drink in the Leaky Cauldron with either Potter or Weasley. Of course, even Blaise knew that none of these were the best moments to talk with her.

As the weeks went by, a certain feeling of desperation started bubbling inside Blaise's stomach whenever he saw the girl. It felt odd, at first. He wasn't used to intense feelings, having lived as a shadow of himself for the past three years, wrapped up in his own inhibitions, his inability to let the past go.

But he needed to find her. He wanted, _needed_ , to talk to her. Not only to return the Gryffindor scarf but also to talk with her, to find out more about why she was in the graveyard on that cloudy day. Yes, it did seem foolish to get so worked up because somebody else visited the graves at the same time as him; still, trying to reach out to the girl was almost exhilarating—something Blaise hadn't felt for so long. If he was going to be honest with himself, it was what made him feel the most alive these days.

Yet, nothing lasts forever. Nothing, and certainly not intrigue.

Two months later, and Blaise decided that it was time to give up.

~oOo~

The clanking sound of his shoes echoed through the empty halls of the Department of Mysteries. It was dark, very dark, so he couldn't see much despite the dim light that was emitting from his wand, but it wasn't much of a problem. He knew where he was heading, and that was all that mattered.

"This isn't safe… or legal, for that matter," came a sudden voice from his right. Blaise furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "So, don't."

"Don't what?" asked Blaise from the nothingness, as it was the only thing he could see in the dark. Instead of an answer, he heard fumbling noises from the general direction of the voice, and soon, another bubble of frail light appeared not two metres away from him. And none other than Hermione Granger was the one holding her wand in front of Blaise.

"If you came because of the new Unspeakable invention, then don't. It's not… it's not worth it. Please, trust me on this one," Hermione said, her voice laced with a mixture of uncertainty and a hint of panic.

"Granger? What are you even doing here?" asked Blaise.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, a painful expression contorting her face. Taking a deep breath, she answered. "I wanted to do it. I wanted to clear out certain memories with this new potion they made—not all of them, only a few. The most painful ones, you know? And then… I didn't do it."

"So I shouldn't either?"

"No, you shouldn't. Look, I don't know what happened to you that made you decide to erase memories, but I'm sure it's not worth it. It's never really worth it," Hermione said, her voice hollow as if her mind was somewhere else.

"Yeah, you don't know me. We talked once, after all. What if I said I had it worse, and what you see as 'not worth it' is more than a passing mistake on my part?" Blaise said with a cutting edge to his voice. "What if I said that not doing it wouldn't be worth it?"

"I'd tell you that you'd regret it," Hermione answered.

"Funny you should say that," came the answer, "because of course, it wouldn't be worth it for you. You didn't have to plead to multiple people to get a job with which you can live by. You didn't lose most of your friends in the war, only to remain alone afterwards. Also, you weren't treated as an outcast by the wizarding community despite not even fighting in the war. You never experienced any of these."

"You don't know me either," Hermione said, although her voice was less fierce than it had been before. It was as if something had cracked inside her. "Maybe I didn't have trouble finding a job, and maybe I wasn't an outcast after the war, but I lost not one, not two, but many of my friends as well. And if that's not enough, I lost my mother as well. I lost her after Death Eaters had found my parents' location in Australia. In Australia." A single teardrop made its way down the girl's cheek. "Maybe one day you'll understand what I mean by this, but don't try to redeem yourself by erasing your memories. Maybe now, you think that Obliviation will keep you safe, will make you able to let go, but…" she sniffed, "it won't."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Blaise shook his head, turning towards Hermione with a questioning glance.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione answered, her voice weak and shaky, almost defeated. "Look, just one more thing. Tonight, before deciding not to erase the pain, I realised something. You know, your memories make you who you are. Even the bad ones. And… I think that even if you feel like living is just not worth it anymore… it still is, somehow."

Blaise hung on to her every word, for a reason he himself couldn't comprehend. Maybe, just maybe, it was that miniscule part of him that still hoped for a better life, that still hadn't given up. If this part of him existed at all, that is.

"I just… If you can, think this through once again, okay? I won't stop you, if you still want to do it, though." She turned to leave, the dim light at the end of her wand getting farther and farther away from Blaise, who could only stare at the back of the girl. Then, a thought hit him.

"Wait!" he said, and Hermione stopped in her tracks. "I have something with me that's yours."

"Something that's mine?"

"Yeah, your scarf. The Gryffindor-coloured one. You left it in the cemetery, about two months ago, and I've been trying to give it back to you ever since." Blaise scratched the back of his head, trying not to look sheepish. "I kind of wanted to talk to you, but you always disappeared."

"Oh," said Hermione, startled at the honesty. "Thank you. I've been looking for it for ages."

"Speaking of which, are you free for an afternoon coffee tomorrow?" asked Blaise, trying to maintain the conversation while his mind buzzed with all the information that he had just heard. He was so sure beforehand that getting rid of his memories would be the best way to end his struggles, as nothing else had seemed to work. Now, though… he was more conflicted than ever. Which was the more worth it? Starting off fresh, or trying to repair something that's already been broken so many times, but still had the hope to work well, maybe even better, if fixed correctly? He wasn't sure anymore.

"Depends. Are you still planning on Obliviating yourself?" asked Hermione. There it was, the question that Blaise had been contemplating. And either way, he was to make a life-changing decision.

"Maybe next time," answered Blaise after a final, long look at Hermione. His curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't bring himself to make such a drastic decision after the girl's outburst. It would have been… absurd.

"Then yes, I do," Hermione said, cracking a sad smile.

Right then, living with his addiction didn't seem like such a bad idea. If there was one thing he'd learned from Hermione Granger, it was that he couldn't let it take over him.


	8. Runaways

**A/N: Muggle AU. Yep.** **Enjoy.**

 **Virtual cookies to Queen Bookworm the First for helping me out with the plot, and to Kefalion for betaing :)**

 **Word count: 2154 (according to MS Word)**

 **QLFC Round 9:** Chaser 3 – Use the Disney movie Lady and the Tramp as an inspiration for your story. (used elements: a character being grounded despite not having committed anything, this character meeting somebody on the streets)

 **Extra prompts:**

1\. (quote) "Okay is wonderful." – AVPM

10\. (song) 'Use Somebody' by Kings of Leon (used the lyrics "I've been roaming around" for inspiration)

11\. (restriction) Exactly three characters must feature

* * *

"And don't you dare trying to come out of your room until your parents come home, young lady!" The harsh voice of Pansy's aunt rang from outside the door of the girl's room, followed by the click of the door's lock. The last thing Pansy could hear before complete and utter silence fell was the echo of footsteps rushing up the stairs.

She was grounded—again. To make matters worse, she was grounded because of something she hadn't committed; she had been a mere spectator. It wasn't her fault that her little brother had knocked that goddamn vase over! On top of that, when her aunt—who was looking after the two of them while Pansy's parents were on holiday—had seen the remnants of the ceramic artefact, she'd decided that it must have been Pansy's fault. The girl knew it wasn't, and she also knew that she got punished because her aunt had always favoured her brother, ever since the moment he was born. Still, she couldn't help the blinding fury that was threatening to burst out of her as she plopped down onto her bedsheets with an expression of annoyance plastered on her face.

However, as soon as she sat, she was already on her feet again, an idea having struck her. It seemed stupid and uncharacteristically bold of her, but she couldn't take her aunt bossing over her anymore. Having to bear with her aunt's presence for one more week was something Pansy didn't want any of, so it only made sense to escape it. A nagging voice in her head did tell Pansy that it wasn't the best way to deal with her frustration, that she should stay put; however, her mind was on auto-mode, shutting down her doubts as fast as they came. She had never been known for her bravery, but she supposed it was time for her to break the stereotype.

It was dark outside already, but fortunately for her, the room she was locked in faced the street and was on the ground floor. So, after throwing her essentials—phone, a good load of pounds, and clothes, in case of emergency—into a bag, she opened her window, and was faced with the fact that she didn't have shoes on yet. Inwardly cursing herself for being forgetful, she threw her wardrobe door open, hoping to find the spare pair she knew would be hidden deep between her clothes. Soon, though, she emerged back with a victorious smirk on her face, a pair of simple black boots in hand. However, Pansy didn't have time to waste, so she slipped her shoes on as quick as she could, and, having grabbed her backpack, jumped out the window, right onto the pavement.

Not knowing where to go at first, Pansy turned her gaze left, then right, and after concluding that if she stayed in one place much longer, she'd be found out, she started taking hurried steps towards where she knew the nearest bus stop to be.

Pansy tried turning her thoughts off for the time being. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that running away was a rash move that would bear consequences worse than if she stayed, but she had to admit: the freeing feeling of not having to care for once was worth it.

~oOo~

Pansy was lost. She had been wandering around the neighbourhood for what seemed like hours, but she couldn't find a bus stop to save her life. She knew she was still in the outskirts of the city because the houses still looked familiar—simple family houses with miniature gardens and garages—but she couldn't recognise the street names anymore. Her phone's battery was on the verge of dying, so she no longer dared to use her GPS in case she needed to use her phone to call the emergency number. Not that having access to the phone's map had helped her much; she had always had terrible sense of navigation.

Having grown tired of wandering aimlessly, Pansy soon let the exhaustion get the better of her, and she plopped down onto the nearest bench she could find. Her limbs were heavy, and her eyelids felt like they were weighing twice as usual. Pansy yawned.

She had no idea where she was, where she was headed, and if she would ever make it back home. Alas, she had no more energy to spare. In retrospect, it had not been the brightest idea to set off into the night, but what could she do now? A suffocating feeling of regret washed over her as she dropped her head onto her backpack, troubled thoughts racing through her mind as she was taken away into the realm of dreams.

~oOo~

A pat on her shoulder brought Pansy back to the waking world, shaking her out of her light sleep. She groaned, her back aching from having slept in a sitting position, and opened her eyes, only to find that it was still dark outside, and the only provider of light was the street lamp above her.

Next to her, a tall, lanky boy was standing. After giving him a once-over, Pansy concluded that aside from his fiery, almost unnaturally bright ginger hair and his freckles, nothing much stood out about him. Besides the fact that his palm was still resting on her shoulder, that is.

"What brings a girl like you here?" he said, his voice soft, although, Pansy could make out a hint of shakiness and uncertainty in it as well.

"I could ask the same thing," she answered, glancing at the concrete before settling her eyes on the boy once again. "How late is it?"

The boy shrugged, letting go of Pansy's shoulder, not bothering to check his watch or cellphone. "Somewhat after 1 AM, I think."

She'd been asleep for hours, it seemed. That didn't make her feel easier, but at least she had gotten some of her energy back.

"So… wanna talk, or something?" the boy said after a lengthy awkward silence. "No?" he continued after seeing that Pansy was not in the mood for answering.

"I ran away," she blurted out of nowhere. Even she herself was surprised that she had said it; most of the time, she restrained herself better than this. Her eyes widening, her hand shot up to hide her mouth, as if she had said something forbidden.

"Well, my girlfriend dumped me and kicked me out," the boy answered nonchalantly, Pansy's scheme of hiding her face going unnoticed. "Guess we're even."

"You live with your girlfriend? Just how old are you?" Pansy asked. The boy seemed to be around her age, but now, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"Eighteen," the boy shrugged again. "Can't go back to my parents, so I was just about to go and crash at a friend's who lives around here when I found you snoring on this bench," he said, sitting down next to her.

"So, you're homeless, essentially?" Pansy said, making the boy go red in the face.

"Yeah. Right now, at least," he answered. "How about you?"

"Uh…" Pansy was at a loss for words. She wasn't yet sure if she could trust this mysterious boy—or rather, if she wanted to talk about her aunt at all. She was not used to talking about her personal life, not with complete strangers, at least.

"You said you ran away, right?" the boy asked. Pansy nodded, hesitance clear in her movements. "Well, do you have any reasons for it? Like, your parents, or something?"

"…My aunt," said Pansy after a moment of uncertainty. After all, the boy had already given her his story, so it was only fair if she told him hers, right?

"Your aunt?"

"Yeah," Pansy said. "She's babysitting my brother while my parents are away, and she grounded me because of a broken vase that was not my fault. So, I left. I was planning on going to my granny's but, um… I kind of didn't make it to the bus stop."

"So you decided to sleep on a bench?"

"Shut up, I was tired," Pansy snapped, then retreated. "Sorry. I'm a bit jumpy right now."

"You should see my mum," the boy grumbled. "Anyway. You said you ran away, but you don't know what to do, right? Well, if I did the same, I'd probably call Harry up, and then…"

Pansy drifted off somewhere in the middle of the strange boy's rambling, letting her thoughts roam on their own. She came to realise that she had nowhere to stay for the night yet—not that there was a lot of time left from the night anyway—and spending hours asleep on the streets was unappealing as well. She could not take chances with being robbed, or worse. Asking the boy for a place to stay sounded ridiculous—they'd just met. Besides, she didn't even know his name yet.

"What's your name?" Pansy asked, which seemed to strike the boy out of the blue. He looked somewhat taken aback, his shoulders clenching for a moment before he relaxed and leaned back on the bench.

"Right, should've started with that one. I'm Ron. Ron Weasley," he said, nodding once. "How about you?"

"Pansy Parkinson," she replied. "So, what were you saying again?"

"I just said that after finding a job while I crashed at Harry's, I'd…" he continued on, and Pansy's mind started wandering again. Could she do any better than going with this boy—Ron—to wherever he was headed? Finding her way back home seemed out of the question before, but everything else was just absurd. She didn't even know where she was, after all.

"Or, you know, I could go back home after a while," Ron said, his gaze locking onto Pansy. "So, what do you think?"

"Yeah, sure, that's… a good idea," Pansy replied, hoping it was the answer the boy was looking for. His face lightened up at her answer, so she supposed it succeeded. Ron was a bad judge of character, she decided. "Hey, um, let's say, hypothetically, if you were me, would you go home in this situation?"

"I'd ask this guy next to you for help, because surely, he knows what to do." Ron nodded with a triumphant smile before furrowing his brows in concentration. "But, um, I guess I'd also be wary? Is that the right answer?"

"There's no right answer, really," Pansy said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes scanned the pavement in front of her; she was no closer to a solution than she had been before. Should she go back home? Should she ask for help? Nothing was of use.

It was a cold, quiet night, the silence only interrupted by the chirping of the tickets. Calm, Pansy thought, before all of a sudden, it was interrupted by the familiar whoosh of a bus, which jolted her out of her train of thoughts. It gave her a scare, so that she grabbed the thing nearest to her, which also happened to be the hand of the redheaded boy sitting next to her. As soon as her fingers gripped his, she let go, and felt a blush creeping onto her face.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassment laced in her voice.

"It's fine," Ron replied, somewhat flustered. "Hey, um," he continued, an obvious attempt to force conversation between the two of them again, "have you decided what to do yet?"

Had she? Pansy was wary of giving an answer yet, but deep inside, she already knew what she was supposed to do.

"Do you happen to know where Ontario Street is?" she asked. "I'm going to go home."

"Go back home?" Ron said. "Okay… Well, Ontario Street is, I think, about two bus stops from here. If you want, I could show you the way."

"Thanks." Pansy nodded. Then, after moments of silence, she went on. "Any chance that we'll meet again?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure. Just give me a call."

"I don't have your phone number yet."

With a sigh, the boy thrust his hand in his pocket, rummaged for a bit, then pulled out a slip of paper. "Do you have a pen?"

"Do I look like I have one?"

"Honestly? No." Ron shook his head. "Hm… You know what? Just give me your phone."

With an exasperated sigh, Pansy reached down for her phone, unlocked the screen, and thrusted her arm towards the boy, indicating for him to take it. Ron snatched the phone from her hand, tapped on the device a couple of times, then placed it back in the girl's hand.

"Now you do," he said. "Can we go now? Harry—uh, my friend—is expecting me soon, and I gotta go."

"You know," Pansy said as the two of them walked down a nearby street not long later, "you're an okay guy."

"Okay is wonderful," Ron replied, "and you're pretty okay, too."


	9. Soulful

**A/N: This was a last-second writing, albeit planned thoroughly. Oh, and have I mentioned that I love writing journal-form stories? It can go a lot of ways and it's an easy way to mesh a character.**

 **Beta love: Huge bunches of virtual cookies to LittleMissXanda, who gave an idea for this fic (And for being awesome in general. Also for betaing and for helping with the title. Like, really, Xanda, you're an angel.), and to Kefalion and agentmoppet for betaing.**

 **Word count: 1818**

 **QLFC Round 10:** Chaser 3 – Walburga Black (portrait)

Extra prompts:

3\. (quote) "Real or not real?" – Peeta Mellark, Mockingjay

13\. (word) eager

14\. (dialogue) "Can't say I'm too fond of house-elves."

* * *

 _January 28th, 1979_

 _It seems my research about soul magic is progressing well. I have yet to finish my plans for my upcoming experiments, but I think that soon, I will be able to test some of the spells I have invented. However, it is probable that these tests will be delayed, as I have encountered a more intriguing topic, and it is likely to change my plans._

 _Recently, I found an article in a book I took from the library. It was written in the seventeenth century, and the article I found is about the magic within portraits. I found it quite intriguing. It claims that portraits coming alive post-mortem have a direct connection to a certain kind of soul magic, but unfortunately, it does not explain the background of this magic in detail. It seems I will have to delve into the topic and search more thoroughly before I can experiment._

 _There are a number of theories buzzing in my head. Real or not real? My aim is to find the answer to all of them._

 _The focus of my research from now on is to examine the possibilities of fusing soul magic with the magic of portraits in order to create a more powerful bond, and then to determine whether or not such a fusion can be used for other magical artefacts as well._

 _I am not sure if I should tell Walburga about my findings. She has always disapproved of such daring behaviour, but on the other hand, she strives for knowledge and power as much as I do. If I am successful with these experiments, new horizons will open up to me._

 _But until then, I have research to do._

 _~oOo~_

 _March 13th, 1979_

 _The planning stage for my new experiment is almost done. Since my last entry, I have found out more about the magic that resides within portraits, and I came to a conclusion that is most intriguing, if I do say so myself._

 _I recently found another book on portrait magic in the family library, and, combining my previous knowledge with what I read in this book, I concluded that a soul is likely to reside within each magical portrait._

 _With the permission of my deceased great-grandfather, Phineas Nigellus, I performed a number of diagnostic spells. To my absolute delight, it seemed that my hypothesis was correct, and portraits do have souls of their own. However, I am yet to determine where the souls come from. As per one of the main laws of Magical Theory, it is impossible for a soul to appear from nowhere, which leaves this question hanging. It's quite a pressing issue, but I believe that in time, the answer will present itself._

 _Now, as for my upcoming test, I decided that it is only wise to start with a lower being. Since I am not too keen on wasting my time with Mudbloods or Muggles, I ordered Kreacher to assist me, and he obeyed like the well-mannered house-elf he is. Can't say I'm too fond of house-elves, but having one at hand is convenient, and I am looking forward to this test._

 _What will I do? I will try to see if I can create a replica of the house-elf's soul with a spell of my making—_ Ecfingem Autem Anima _—and then paste it into a blank painting. Both parts of the procedure are dark and dangerous, based on my previous notes; however, I am willing to make sacrifices. That aside, I have never been opposed to dark magic._

 _I have to admit: I am eager to see how this experiment plays out. It's exciting._

 _It is also a shame that I cannot share it with Walburga. She has told me that she wants no part in my 'shady business with portraits,' and that she would rather I went back to my political career. Or, if I am that stubborn about not working in the Ministry, I should follow in the footsteps of our son, and become a follower of the Dark Lord._

 _I feel as if I should have been offended by her words. Instead, however, what I feel is closer to disappointment._

 _Fortunately, I am not that easy to influence._

 _~oOo~_

 _April 2nd, 1979_

 _I have to put my efforts on hold for an indefinite amount of time for multiple reasons._

 _First of all, to my utter displeasure, my first experiment was a failure. However, I already found the root of the problem. The spell I used for duplication. The latin translation of the spell was not precise, and it seems that because of the power the spell needs to work, it has to be chanted multiple times instead of one. Four times, if my calculations are correct. With the correct spell—_ Effingem Autem Anima _—the next trial should be more successful._

 _As such, I did not manage to fill the blank portrait I had purchased beforehand. Although, it seemed as though the house-elf bore consequences of the test. It is almost as if it has gone mad; at least, that is what my observations have told me._

 _Walburga must have noticed as well; she was looking at me with suspicion the other day. She even told me to reconsider the Ministry job once again, which I declined. After I did, she huffed and went back to her room, telling me that I was bringing shame to the family name, like my cousin Alphard. I had to resist the urge to teach her a lesson with my wand._

 _All that aside, I cannot continue my progress. For now, my time has to be spent on other matters. My precious son, Regulus, passed away recently. We have yet to set a date for and arrange the burial as his body has not been found, but it is rumoured that he was killed while trying to flee from the Dark Lord. What a shame._

 _I cannot say I am happy with these rumours—after all, it must be an attempt to undermine our family name—but the news is disheartening, to say at least. I believe Walburga was fazed by the rumours, too._

 _To top all these horrible events, I have been feeling unwell these past days. I am not yet certain, but I suspect it may be connected to my experiments._

 _Nevertheless, once the time of mourning passes, I will continue preparing for the tests. I am proud to say that I already have a plan to go by._

 _~oOo~_

 _June 20th, 1979_

 _My sickness is getting worse day by day. My nagging suspicion that it may be connected to the incident with the house-elf has grown stronger, but I am not yet a hundred percent sure if it really is the case._

 _However, my son's burial has passed, and I decided to continue my proceedings. I am happy to say that the preparations for the final trial are almost complete, and the experiment is guaranteed to be a success if everything goes according to plan._

 _I have to confess that I feel anxious, but also eager, just as I was with my first, failed attempt. However, I can already feel that this instance will go well._

 _After all, inventing something world-changing is exciting, is it not?_

 _~oOo~_

 _June 25th, 1979_

 _There was an enormous miscalculation in my plans all along, and I believe it has to do with an observation I made earlier, but did not take at face value. Even if the spell and the procedure went as per the plan, the outcome would never have been what I wanted, because I ignored that one law of Magical Theory._

 _Souls can never appear out of the blue. As such, it is impossible for me to replicate a human's, or any lower creature's soul. Even if I use the correct spell to do it, I can only rip the soul apart from the body and then preserve it in a portrait, which is not what I have been aiming for._

 _But it's too late now, is it not? I was foolish, careless… And now, she is gone._

 _Because of my efforts, Walburga is now confined within a portrait. She is imprisoned for eternity. Her body remains in the living world, soulless and empty—a fate worse than death itself._

 _I killed her to cease her suffering._

 _The feeling of fear is one I have had the fortune not to encounter many times in my life, but I know it well enough to recognise it when it courses through my body. Fear makes me have irrational thoughts, but I cannot stop it._

 _I have to destroy the evidence, and I have to forge her documents. It would be too suspicious if her death coincided with mine. She will die a few years later—according to the Ministry papers, that is. It is times like these that I'm thankful for my connections._

 _I know I do not have much time left; it seems this disease that has infected me is spreading, and I will be dead by the end of the year, if not sooner. I suppose it must have been caused by the incident with Kreacher, but I have no way of uncovering the full truth._

 _This will be the last entry in this journal, as my experiments are over and done with. I was planning on destroying it as soon as possible, too._

 _But I had to write my last thoughts down. I cannot live out my last days burdened with guilt._

 _Walburga, if you ever read these lines, please, forgive me. We never had love within our marriage, but I never intended to put an end to your life so harshly. Through your eternal suffering, I wish for one thing only: Forgive me, if you can._

 _~oOo~_

A man, fully clad in black, is standing in front of the door. His face is pale, his skin soggy, and he looks as if he is on the verge of death. Maybe, he really is. His hand reaches out to the doorknob, but he is delayed by a fit of coughs.

When his breathing calms a little, he grips the doorknob firmly, but before he clicks the door, he turns his head to face a painting. On the painting, a lady in her late forties is resting in a chair, her head lulled to the side as she sleeps. The man sighs, a painful expression plastered over his face.

Before long, however, he hardens his expressions, and mumbles three words before he steps out into the open and closes the door behind himself.

"I am sorry."

What he doesn't see is that as soon as the door clicks behind him, the figure in the portrait opens her eyes, and narrows them in an instant. The shrill screams she lets out—tinted with madness—however, are only heard by the empty walls and dusty drawers.


	10. Like Smoke That's Been Lifted

**Warnings for character death, mentions of torture and a little bit of blood. Yeah, this story turned out dark. I'm sorry.**

 **A/N: I don't prefer first person POV writings, to be honest. But this one… This one called for it. Also, this thing is somewhat inspired by Danganronpa, because I'm a nerd. Enjoy.**

 **Beta love: Huge thanks and virtual cookies to LittleMissXanda and Kefalion for helping me out when I was stuck, and for betaing. You guys are awesome :)**

 **Word count: 1689**

 **QLFC Round 11:** Chaser 3 – Object: Remembrall

 **Optional prompts:**

2\. (word) dominoes

5\. (word) coffee

6\. (dialogue) "On your marks, get set… Drink!"

* * *

Blood. I'd always thought that the cloud of bright red smoke inside the glass of a Remembrall resembled blood—in terms of colour, at least. Ever since I'd gotten this little ball—which, if my memory served me right, was a couple of years ago, maybe in my first or second year—it had always been glowing bright crimson while in my hand.

At first, I didn't think much of it—people forgot things of various importance from time to time. It had been a little awkward that one time I showed it to Draco—he wouldn't stop teasing me about it for half a year afterwards—but it slowly became a part of my daily life. Waking up, brushing my teeth, changing into my school robes, checking if the Remembrall was still glowing bright red when I touched it… I'd grown accustomed to it.

I did feel something tickling in the back of my head whenever I tried to remember what I'd forgotten, but it never became a tangible thought, nothing more than a nagging itch. As such, eventually, I gave up on it. Having to leave it unsolved was annoying, and made me feel somewhat bitter, but there wasn't anything left for me to try. It was what it was.. Besides, if the coward's way out is the easiest, then there's no reason for me not to take it.

Oh, but have you heard of the phrase, 'ignorance is bliss?'

~oOo~

It started out just like any other day. One of Draco's lackeys—I think their names are Crabbe and Goyle—came barging into the dorm and woke us up, along with possibly half of the Slytherin house.

What made it even worse was the lingering feeling of a headache. It was only slight, barely noticeable, but it annoyed me nevertheless.

I groaned. I'd never been a morning person, especially not before getting my usual morning coffee, and now, with the dull pain throbbing through my skull, I was even less enthusiastic about having to wake up. Nevertheless, I knew I had no time to waste if I wanted to be on time for my first period, so I threw the sheets off myself, and dug through my robes until I found the one I'd wear that day.

"Hey, Theo." I heard Draco call my name, so I turned to face him. "Have you finished your Potions assignment? It's due today, so I hope you haven't forgotten it." There was a cutting edge to his words, laced by something that sounded like triumph. Draco was trying to make fun of me—again.

Truth be told, Potions had never been a favourite subject of mine. I didn't think it was because I didn't have the aptitude to be good at the subject; it was because, for as long as I could remember, I'd always felt a certain resentment towards it. What I found odd, however, was that I could never work out the reason for that resentment, exactly.

It might have had something to do with the glowing red Remembrall, stored in my drawer. Hell if I knew.

"Yes, I finished it yesterday," I replied, feigning indifference. "What about it?"

"Oh, I was just worried you wouldn't be ready. Imagine how mad Snape would be." I could hear the smirk in Draco's words.

"I could say the same about your Arithmancy essay," I replied, letting a small smile slip onto my face.

"Touché," Draco said. "Let's go and eat breakfast. It's impossible to talk to you before you get your morning coffee."

I nodded briskly, and, before following Draco out the door, I slipped the Remembrall into my pocket. Over the years, it had become a habit. I'd carry it with me at all times, so that if I happened to remember what I'd forgotten, I'd know about it in an instant. I never mentioned this fact to anyone—it would only seem like a weird obsession. It wasn't, really. Not in my mind, at least.

It just made me more comfortable.

~oOo~

"Say, have you heard the rumours?" Draco asked me while the two of us were eating breakfast. I wasn't feeling all that hungry, so I only had one measly piece of toast on my plate; Draco, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Well, no. Not until you tell me which rumour you're talking about, at least," I answered. Not that I was interested in it—rumours and gossip had always been far from me, regardless of which end of the story I was on.

"You really need to tone down your attitude. In fact, you should be glad I even talk to you," came the answer.

"Yeah, thanks, whatever," I said. I wasn't feeling up to an argument at that point, especially not with my ever-so-growing headache. Annoyingly enough, it had only gotten worse since I'd woken up, and that did not help my mood at all. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I turned to Draco once again. "What was it that you were going to say?"

"Oh, yeah. Rumour has it that Saint Potter has started a club despite the rules not allowing to do so. They say it was created as some kind of a resistance against Umbridge and the Ministry," Draco explained. I couldn't help but glance at the Gryffindor table from across the room, and eye my fellow fifth years talking about something rather heatedly over their breakfast.

I could hear somebody shout "On your marks, get set… drink!" from across the Great Hall, and I caught a glimpse of a couple of older students downing what seemed to be a cup of… something at the Gryffindor table. I briefly wondered what it could've been.

"Hey, do you hear me?" The voice of my dormmate brought me back from my musing.

"Yeah," was all I could muster.

"So, what do you think?"

"Why should I care?" I said. "If they do have a club of some kind, then good for them. It's likely that they'll be caught sooner or later, but that's none of my concern, really. But, say, why are you so obsessed with that Potter git? He's not as remarkable as you make him out to be."

Draco sighed, shaking his head. "Nobody's ever remarkable to you."

~oOo~

Hair-Colouring Potion. Even the name sounded ridiculous, and it made me question the necessity of the class once again. The instructions were written down, clear as day, in my textbook, and the potion was already bubbling in my cauldron, but I couldn't shake the sceptical feeling I'd always had while in Potions class.

To make matters worse, it seemed my headache had decided to strengthen, making it borderline impossible for me to concentrate.

Trying to hold myself together, I sat down for a moment; the potion wouldn't go haywire if I left it unattended for a moment, after all. The cup of coffee I'd had at breakfast had not made the pain go away, nor had the spell I'd cast on myself right after. If anything, my headache had just gotten worse.

But worst of all, I had no idea where it came from or why I suffered from it.

As I was about to stand back up, though, trying to at least attempt to finish my potion before asking to leave for the Hospital Wing, I heard a scream. If I were to guess, I'd have said it was probably some clumsy girl spilling a potion in progress on themselves, but I didn't have the time to ponder about things like that.

It was as if a dam was opened—or, rather, broken—in my mind, memories flooding my thoughts. I could hear screams, similar to the one I heard moments ago, but more terrifying. They were screams of torture. For some reason, it appeared to me that they were my mother's screams, even though I'd never met her. My father had told me she died in childbirth.

Or… had I met her? I didn't know anymore; it was confusing. I buried my head in my hands, my breath growing erratic as more images flashed through my mind. There was a room—our receiving room?— and there was blood, a lot of blood pooling on the floor, flowing from a body.

Was that my mother? I thought I recognized her from photographs.

If it was her, how did… I… remember this?

I wanted to scream.

Before I could, though, another image appeared. It was my father, towering over me; the wand in his hand pointed at something behind me. The picture was blurry, and I inexplicably knew it was because of the tears in my eyes.

Then, another image flashed. My father, cornering a familiar-looking woman, blind fury twisting his face. And then, another memory of him pointing his wand at her. Then, one of me being ushered out of the room. And then, the wand pointed at me. I could read the syllables to the word 'Obliviate' on my father's lips.

Before the images ended, I could hear a gentle, but strained voice, saying my name. _Theo_. The voice was feminine, and it sounded so familiar. This voice rang through my head, chanting my name over and over again.

Before the flashbacks ended, I saw the picture of me being pushed out of the room once again, but this time the voice I'd just heard said something else.

 _Mum will be fine, Theo._

Through the headache that had gotten even worse throughout these flashbacks, another thought crossed my mind, and I reached for the pocket of my robe. Pulling the little glass ball out, I saw as the smoke that had been glowing bright crimson for all these years started clearing up, first getting pink, then plain white.

Was this what I'd forgotten? Was this a real memory?

Maybe it was. I didn't know anymore. As black spots started dancing around my sight, I pocketed the Remembrall once again.

My last thought before blacking out completely was that even though the smoke inside the glass ball was now clear white, all I could see was blood.


	11. See You Smile Again

**A/N: Mildly inspired by Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver. It's a pretty good book, methinks. Enjoy.**

 **Beta love: Huge thanks and virtual cookies to agentmoppet for helping me with the story and for betaing :)**

 **QLFC Round 12:** Write a TRAGIC story about NEXT-GEN CHARACTERS

 **Extra prompts:**

3\. (word) radiant

5\. (opening sentence) It had happened again.

9\. (quote) "Mother, I want to see him fly!" - George R.R. Martin, Game of Thrones

* * *

 **See You Smile Again**

 _Word count: 2639 (according to MS Word)_

It had happened again. And again. And again. As if trapped in a swirling downwards spiral, Roxanne Weasley's mind spun and spun in the darkness until a radiant glow came into view. Unknowingly, Roxanne reached for the glowing ball of light, trying to shake off the dizziness that came from the spinning sensation. Her fingers barely touched the radiant sphere when, as if she was a fish caught by a fisherman, Roxanne was pulled forward.

In the next second, she felt soft sheets pooling beneath her body.

As she opened her eyes, an all too familiar scene came to view. She was in her dorm in the Gryffindor tower, and a pair of hands were shaking her shoulders gently.

"Roxanne, wake up!" She could hear her best friend, Jenna, nudging her out of her slumber. "We're going to be late for Transfigurations at this rate!"

The redhead groaned, but pulled herself up into a sitting position. The moment she stilled, a flock of memories came rushing back. Suddenly, the whole drowning and spinning that was hurting her head made sense.

She was supposed to be… dead? She remembered standing next to the Black Lake, a pushing sensation as she fell into the water, herself struggling to keep above the waterline, and then the stinging sensation of water taking the place of oxygen in her lungs as the depths of the lake pulled her deeper and deeper down. That, before everything went black.

It was only after her blackout that the spinning sensation welled up inside her, as if she was being pulled back by some kind of rope. And now, she was being woken up by her best friend. Did she survive, then?

"What day is it?" she choked out. The situation was confusing, to say at least.

Jenna shrugged. "Tuesday. Why'd you ask?"

"Nothing." Roxanne shook her head, her expression blank. Tuesday was yesterday. Tuesday was when somebody shoved her into the Black Lake.

Then again, Jenna always knew the time.

"Are you sure it's Tuesday?" Roxanne asked, desperately hoping she was wrong.

"Yup!" her friend replied, a small smile playing on her lips. "Don't you remember? We're having that big Potions exam today!"

 _Then there was no denying it_ , Roxanne decided. She did write a Potions exam… yesterday? Today? At some point of time. There was no way Jenna would forget about that; after all, she was the studious type.

But then, what was Roxanne doing here, on the morning of her supposed death?

~oOo~

"Roxanne, wake up!" rang a familiar voice through Roxanne's head. She blinked slowly, the face of Jenna clearing in front of her.

What was she doing here again? All Roxanne felt was confusion, mixed with a bit of fear and exhaustion.

Then, it all came back. Yesterday—if it really was yesterday at all—she woke up, memories of dying in the Black Lake tainting her mind. Back then, she found it somewhat strange that she'd have memories of a day she hadn't lived through yet, but at the time, she cast it aside.

It turned out to be a lethal mistake on her part. The drowning and pulling and choking… It all happened again. She was wary as to what had really happened still, but a nagging suspicion in the back of her head was urging her to find out more.

"Hey, Jenna," Roxanne said finally. "This may sound weird, but it's Tuesday, right? The day of that big Potions exam, right?"

"Yeah! I didn't think you'd remember," Jenna replied, her face positively radiating with excitement. "We were also planning on having lunch by the Black Lake, remember?"

It definitely was Tuesday, then. It may have given Roxanne an answer to a few questions she'd been holding, but it also raised several more.

Was this whole 'looped-day-thing' a dream? Was somebody playing a rather cruel trick with her? Or… Did she really die? Was she really teleported back in time, twice in a row?

And if so, why?

Roxanne felt pain shooting through her forehead.

"Ah, yeah," she said, wincing at how small her voice seemed. "How about we decide that after the exam? Or, how about we do it tomorrow?"

"No! The Quidditch team is having a practice today, and it's the only time I can spy on Adam without being creepy. Surely, it's not much of a sacrifice for you to come with me if it's about my love life?"

Roxanne bit her lower lip. Jenna had this budding crush on one of the Gryffindor Chasers, and even though it was hopeless, she kept stalking the boy from within a healthy distance. If it wasn't for the little voice in the back of her head, Roxanne would have said yes. But in this situation… Her life may have been on the line.

"I'm not sure, Jenna. You know, I have this feeling that something will go wrong," Roxanne said, her voice uncertain as were her emotions.

"Come on, what could go wrong? You're being awfully cautious. That's not very Gryffindor of you," Jenna huffed.

Seconds ticked by.

"Fine," Roxanne said finally, hanging her head. She did feel as if something more complicated was going on behind the scenes, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. And for now, she decided not to care about it.

~oOo~

Darkness enveloped Roxanne again, her vision going blurry as the bottom of the Lake neared her. For the third time in a row, somebody pushed her in.

It was in moments like these that she cursed herself for not learning how to swim.

Alas, she knew what was to come next, so when her head started spinning again in a spiral of blackness, she welcomed it, a soundless sigh escaping her lips as she reached for the radiant light once again.

~oOo~

This time, she was up before Jenna could shake her out of unconsciousness. She was wide awake, with a plan forming in her mind.

If she was going to be thrown back a day each and every time she dies, it would only be fitting for her to spend her last couple of hours investigating, right? Maybe, just maybe, if she untangled the mystery behind her death, she would be freed from this loop, this fate, which was almost worse than death.

Having to relive her last day over and over again was not only exhausting; it made Roxanne wish she could've just left the living world without another word. What was the point of keeping her here, in a universe she didn't belong in anymore? Why couldn't she rest in peace?

She supposed this must be the feeling of true despair.

Even so, she pulled herself up in her bed with renewed energy. She was going to solve the mystery, even if it took her fifteen more tries. There was nothing more left for her to discover—it was the only chance she could see at escaping.

"Oi, Jenna," she said, walking over to her best friend's bed, who had just woken up, "you ready for today's Potions exam?"

"I sure am," the brunette replied, yawning. "I'm surprised you remembered, though."

"You know, nervousness and all." Roxanne shrugged. "Hey, um, you know we planned on having lunch by the Lake, right?" Jenna nodded. "Could I skip it? I just realised I have something urgent I must discuss with Professor McGonagall in that particular break, and you know how she is with being punctual."

"Of course I do. Though, I hoped we both could watch the Quidditch practice." Jenna pouted slightly.

"Guess it can't be helped," Roxanne replied. She felt bad for lying to her best friend, but did it really matter now? She wouldn't live to see that goddamn next Wednesday anyway. It was a rather desperate attempt by her, yes, but when she drowned for the third time in a row, something had snapped within her. She couldn't care anymore; she just wanted to end it all.

She did realise that this decision had its consequences, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

~oOo~

Peering from behind the wall of the castle, Roxanne had her eyes glued on Jenna, who, aside from eating her lunch, was staring at the Gryffindor Quidditch team in awe. She was sitting cross-legged near the water of the Black Lake. Aside from her, Roxanne couldn't see anyone lingering out in the open, so she had no suspects. Regardless, Roxanne was positive she would catch the culprit sooner or later. With her eyes transfixed on her best friend, however, she didn't notice the boy who came up behind her, until she felt a tap on her shoulder.

As soon as she felt the touch, Roxanne jumped both from the fear she'd been suppressing the whole day, and surprise. She did recognise the boy in front of her—he was a classmate of her brother, Fred, and he was called Mark—but she had never really talked with him before.

"Hey, Roxanne," he said, his hands fidgeting with something in his pockets.

"Hey, Mark" the redhead replied. "Anything you want?"

"Yeah," the boy said, holding out a slip of paper towards the girl. "Some guy just came up to me and told me to give this letter to you. He said you'd better look out."

"But why?" Roxanne wondered aloud. "More importantly, who was it?"

Mark shrugged. "I dunno."

"I see. Thanks anyway," the girl said, waving a goodbye to the older boy before turning back to face the Lake, where she was expecting Jenna to sit.

Instead, what she could see was her friends struggling against the water, as if a mysterious power was pulling her under. _Maybe_ , the thought appeared in the back of her head, _there_ was _some kind of power holding her underwater._

Soon, the realisation hit her. Jenna was dying right in front of her, and she was just standing there, gazing at the scene as if in a trance. She broke into a sprint, hoping she wasn't late as she drew her wand out.

 _Save Jenna,_ the thought rang in her head like a mantra.

The closer she got the Lake, however, the less hope she had. She couldn't even hear noises of struggling anymore, and as she reached the shore, she glimpsed as the body of her late best friend was consumed by the deep depths of the Black Lake.

 _She wasn't supposed to die here_ , she thought.

A single tear rolled down Roxanne's cheek. Was this the cost of her plan? Was this the sacrifice she had to make in order to discover the identity of her murderer? Most of all, would it still be worth it, if Jenna died with her?

As Roxanne kept on sobbing, kneeling right next to the Lake, she suddenly remembered the piece of paper se had been given and which she was still clutching. Trembling in grief, she smoothened the slip out. There were seven words scribbled down on the parchment.

 _Mother, I want to see him fly!_

Roxanne's eyes widened. She knew where she'd heard this before, she knew all too well, but why was it brought up at a time like this? What did that memory have to do with anything? Did it have to do with the case at all?

And why… Why was she reminded of _it_ now? There was only one other person in the school who knew about it, but that couldn't be…

Roxanne let her shoulders slump, the piece of paper falling onto the ground unceremoniously. She didn't know what to feel anymore. There was fear. There was anxiety. There was nervousness, grief, sorrow, regret, and a hint of something she couldn't quite place yet. Understanding? Surprise? She didn't know.

Not that she had time to figure it out. As she was about to grasp the remaining piece of the puzzle, she was once again pushed into the water headfirst.

"I didn't mean to," she said as the oxygen left her lungs once again.

Soon, she welcomed the all too familiar blackness.

~oOo~

It was different this time. This time, the darkness held a flashback. It was as if a memory of Roxanne's was displayed on a screen. Little, eleven-year-old Roxanne was standing by the window of her room, which was in an apartment on the top of a four-storey building, a fluffy white cat cradled in her arms. Her eyes were glinting with excitement as she neared the window.

" _Roxanne, dear, put Fluffy down!" she heard a voice coming from behind, which the redheaded girl recognised as her mum._

" _But Mother, I want to see him fly!" tiny Roxanne replied, holding the cat a little bit tighter. "They say cats always land on their paws, and that's kinda like flying, isn't it?"_

" _Roxanne, you can't throw Fluffy out of the window. It's dangerous," came the stern voice of her mother._

 _Little Roxanne huffed once and threw the window open anyway. "If we never try, we'll never find out if he really does land on his paws." With a swift movement, the cat was shooting downwards._

Roxanne didn't want to see it. She heard the sickening thump at the end of the scene, but she didn't dare to look at it. To this very day, it filled her with horror.

She had killed her brother's cat, and it was all her fault.

She wanted to get out of there. She wanted it to end, for it to be over and done with, for it to be forgotten once and for all.

Reaching for the glowing ball of light that, as usual, loomed near her—an escape from the darkness—Roxanne realised that this was going to be her last chance.

~oOo~

Much to her surprise, Roxanne woke up with anticipation instead of fear. Her whole day, leading up to the ominous lunch break was tainted not with the anxiety she had felt before, but with silent resignation.

Much to her surprise, Jenna didn't seem to remember the events of yesterday… Well, today, since it was still that particular Tuesday.

Still, throughout the day, Roxanne remained blissfully calm. She had accepted her fate, it seemed. There was nothing left for her to take. If she wished, she could have ended it herself, but she wanted to give the culprit the satisfaction.

An eye for an eye, huh?

As she kneeled beside Jenna at lunch, she let out an involuntary smile. It was sickening, and she knew that somewhere deep down. Yes, it was expected of her to pay for her wrongdoings, but was her life the correct price? Was that goddamn cat more important than her?

Roxanne didn't know anymore. Somewhere, buried deep under her resignation, she was furious. It was unfair; life was unfair, and so was death.

"Hey, Jenna," she said, about halfway through lunch break. "Don't you want to go talk to Adam? I think after practice is the best time to get closer to him, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, you're actually right!" Jenna's eyes lit up. "But, is it okay if I leave you here alone?"

Roxanne shrugged. "I'll be fine. Now, go. Bye, Jenna." She waved as per a goodbye that she knew would be the last.

As she was pulled under the water, she caught a glimpse of fiery red hair, hiding behind a nearby tree. The boy wore an equally sickening smile on his face as he waved his wand in complicated patterns.

Right before the waves crashed over Roxanne, though, she felt icy fear crippling down her spine.

She didn't want to die, but it was already too late. Betrayal flashed in her eyes as the darkness enveloped her for one last time.

"Why did you do it, Fred?" she said.

This time, there was no radiant light that greeted her.


	12. Different

**A/N: I'm kind of venturing into uncharted territory here since I haven't written a fic where a canon character has a canonically not established relation to another canon character. Guess you gotta try everything once. (Also, have I mentioned that I like not using the names of characters until the very last moment? You know, keep the guessing game on)**

 **Huge thanks and virtual cookies to Frida (Kefalion) and Xanda (LittleMissXanda) for helping me with the story, and Frida for betaing. I don't know where I'd be without your help.**

 **QLFC Round 13** : Wasps/Chaser 3 – S2/R5: Choose a character from the list (I chose Charity Burbage) and write about their first day at Hogwarts.

 **Extra prompts:**

· 1. (setting) Hogwarts Library

· 7. (word) invidious

· 8. (quote) "Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please."

* * *

 **Different**

 _Word count: 1916 (according to MS Word)_

She was suffocating. The cheerful and happy-go-lucky demeanour of her housemates already felt like asphyxiating to Charity. Maybe it wasn't a good thing that she'd accomplished getting sorted into Hufflepuff. With a shake of her head, however, she dismissed the line of thought. Doubting her choice on her very first day at Hogwarts wouldn't do her any good.

It didn't matter that she wasn't at all used to crowds or to people with such warm attitudes towards her; she still had to go through this.

 _It was for the greater good_ , Charity thought, and almost instantly was drowning in a sense of unsettling irony. After all, this was the very thought that, according to her mother, drove her father onwards.

She never knew him—her father, that is—but her mother, who had once been an acquaintance of his, had told her enough to know what kind of a person he was.

 _Still is_ , she thought. _The Global Wizarding War is not over yet._

As such, it was at an early age that she had decided to become the polar opposite of who she knew her father to be; she had decided to distance herself from her father's invidious morals. She hated how she had the same hair colour, the same eye colour, and the same, refined but distinct facial features. The only difference was her surname, which she had inherited from her mother.

As she was only eleven, she had been spared of some details, but her mother had taught her to be observant; so she was aware that she wasn't given the full version of what had transpired between her parents. She had ultimately come to the decision that maybe she was better off not knowing, but in retrospect, it only helped her to carve her decision in stone.

For starters, she had decided she wanted to attend Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang, where her mother had wished to send Charity. 'She would receive better education,' her mother had said. 'She would learn how to be a proper pureblood,' her mother had also said. It confused Charity. She didn't really understand why that was important, but as stubborn as she was, she would not let go of her decision.

Earlier in the day, before the Opening Feast, she had been sorted. The Sorting Hat told her she would do great in Slytherin or Gryffindor, but she had insisted on becoming a Hufflepuff, as it was the only house she could not imagine her father in.

Charity considered herself lucky for the leniency of the Sorting Hat.

Now, however, she felt like this decision was more or less for naught. The Hufflepuff common room was too bright, too joyful for her liking. So, she swiftly slipped out of the room, and decided to wander around the castle aimlessly. It was a bummer that she had no idea where everything was, but it felt good to finally find peace in the silence that rang through the halls.

After only a couple of minutes, she somehow ended up in front of what she assumed to be the Hogwarts Library. It seemed like a calm and safe place to be, so even though Charity was sure it was already well after closing time, she crept inside in the blink of an eye.

The library was dark, the shadows on the floor dancing in the moonlight that seeped through the windows. The room itself was spacious; there was plenty of place for Charity to hide if she so desired. For now, though, she decided to search for a book at random. Soon enough, she picked up what seemed to be some kind of report about Transfiguration. _It will do_ , she thought.

She didn't yet know the spell for artificially making light, so instead of sitting down in front of a desk, she ambled closer to the window, hoping that the moonlight would be enough for her to read by.

However, it wasn't long before a voice from behind her interrupted her getaway.

"I quite like to take walks in the castle late at night as well, Ms Burbage," came the voice from behind Charity. Crippling fear of the consequences of being caught breaking the rules on her first school day coursed through her veins. She jumped up from her seat, shutting the book she was reading in the process. "However, I am afraid that students like yourself are not allowed such actions," the man finished.

The professor Charity came to face looked familiar—after all, he must have been present at the Feast. If she remembered correctly, he was the Head of Gryffindor. She couldn't remember his name, though.

"No, Professor, I was just…" she began, but the words got caught up in her throat. She had no excuses she could use for being out so late. She had to improvise. "I just got lost. It _is_ my first day, after all."

"Oh, I know that very well. I also happen to know that all Prefects are ordered to gather their first-years and escort them to their common rooms," the auburn-haired professor said.

"Well," Charity started, but couldn't finish her sentence. It wasn't like she had another excuse prepared, anyway.

"It is quite alright, Ms Burbage. I suppose such things can be overlooked as this is your first day at Hogwarts," the professor said. "Oh, and may I suggest you read _Of Teacups and Mice_ , since you seem to be engrossed in this current piece you're reading?" He nodded in the direction of the book Charity was holding. "It is one of my favourite works by Amanda Brookbanks."

Charity nodded, hesitating. "Uh, sure. Thank you, professor."

"You're welcome." The professor nodded back. "Ah, I must say you remind me of your father with your disregard for rules."

If Charity had been drinking some kind of liquid, she surely would have spat it out in that moment. With a flabbergasted face and raised eyebrows, she talked.

"How does the Professor know about my father? He didn't even go to Hogwarts!" she said, a feeling of unease filling her at the thought that she had been compared to him. Was she failing her goal already?

"That is a long story, and one that started a long time ago," the professor said, a half-smile playing on his lips, which made Charity both confused and intrigued. Her mother had never told her about this part of her father's life, but at the same time, she was wary of hearing something she might not like. Yet, she wanted to hear more of the man she never once met. 'Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please,' she would tell herself. Since she never had a father to begin with, by some twisted motion of nature, it felt as if she was getting closer to him every single time somebody told her a story about him.

A story that she could use as an example not to follow, that is.

It was no more than a futile attempt at pretending she had had a relatively normal life, however. More often than not, these stories would not give Charity closure; quite the contrary, they would only fuel her inherent dislike for him, and her stubbornness about being different.

"You could say we were friends, once upon a time," the professor continued, making Charity drop the book she had been holding.

"Friends?" Charity said.

"Indeed," the professor mused. "However, as I said, it has been a long time since. We were young and ambitious, dreaming of changing the future, changing the world in the name of Greater Good. Sometimes, I wish I could have done things differently, but even I cannot undo the past."

"You helped him?!" Charity was almost seething. She knew that shouting at a professor was impolite, but she couldn't help it. Her father was somebody her mind had always been fixated on, and like a trigger, whenever it was brought up in a conversation, it was as if her switch of stubbornness had been flicked on. "Why?"

"People do a number of dauntless things in their youth, Ms Burbage," came the answer. It seemed that the man was completely unfazed by Charity's attitude. "However, they change with time as well. I hope you will come to realise that one day."

"But he hasn't changed, has he?" Charity asked in a bitter tone. "That's why I don't want to be like him."

"Ms Burbage, while I understand your point, it is essential you see the full picture. I believe that even your father has his own qualities. Do not be afraid of being similar to him; there are plenty of things you can only learn if you do so," the professor said.

"No!" Charity half-shouted, then stuck her hands in front of her mouth, as if she had said something inappropriate. Then, with a slightly lower-pitched voice, she continued, "I don't want to be like him. He's a bad person, and… and, are Muggles really that bad? Are they? Because I don't know anymore."

"No, I suppose they aren't," the professor answered. "Although, I have to admit that Muggle Studies is not my forte, so you will have to ask Professor Hawthorn about the specifics. However, I like to think that there is no bad or good, Ms Burbage. Everything can be changed, after all, even things you deem invidious at first."

"What if that's not true?" Charity pressed on. "What if there are things that are destined to be one way or another?" She only received another of those half-smiles as a reply.

She supposed, if she was a Hufflepuff for anything, it was for her loyalty to her morals.

"This is another thing I hope you will learn about one day," the professor said. "My, it is getting late, is it not?" Charity couldn't help but notice the sudden change of topic, which made her even more confused. "I say we shall both retreat into our respective dorms."

Charity, still somewhat suspicious, couldn't help but nod hesitantly.

"Well then. Have a good night, Ms Burbage," the professor—who Charity realised she still didn't know the name of—waved, and turned to leave the library.

For long moments to follow, she couldn't help but stare ahead of herself. This night had been… upsetting, which, Charity thought, was not exactly an ideal start of her seven years at the school.

What she also realised that she was tired, and was in the need of sleep. As such, after a long, long time, she reached down for the book she had dropped, placed it back at its rightful place, and left the library. By some miracle of sorts, it didn't take her long to find the way back to her common room, and after entering the circular room, she immediately headed for the dorms.

She decided that thinking about it could be postponed to the next day. Maybe then, she would have a clearer head and could look at things more objectively.

Little did she know, in a completely different part of the castle, Albus Dumbledore was sitting on a chair perched in front of his desk at the Teacher's Wing. Next to him was a baby Phoenix, chirping merrily, but his eyes weren't fixated on the creature. Instead, they were merely looking into the distance, as if he was thinking deeply about something.

Finally, before standing up from his place, he muttered one sentence aloud.

"What have you done again, Gellert?"


	13. We Fade, But Our Memories Don't

**QLFC Finals Round 1:** Player 3 – A section written in epistolary form AND an epigraph, and James/Lily as a pairing because it's Player 2's (our Captain, Clairebear1982) OTP.

 **Word count** : 2637 (according to MS Word)

 **Extra prompts:**

· 2. (word) hazelnut

· 11. (setting) a Muggle café

· 12. (colour) mulberry

* * *

" _Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it."_

― _L. M. Montgomery, The Story Girl_

~oOo~

"But Rose, this place looks so old…" came the voice of Lily Potter from outside the entrance of a small but homey-looking café near the centre of London.

"Maybe so, but trust me, they have the best hazelnut chocolate chip cookies in the entire city!" exclaimed Rose, dragging her cousin inside the building, then pointing at a round, wooden table near the back with empty seats around it. "That's where I always sit. Come on!"

Soon enough, the two of them were comfortably seated, Lily with her arms crossed and a calculating expression etched on her face, and Rose looking around in admiration and with a hint of nostalgia.

"So, any particular reason why you brought me here?" Lily inquired.

"Actually, yeah," Rose replied, her index finger pointing upwards as though she'd just remembered something vital. Grabbing her bag that had been resting on her lap, she rummaged through the contents and after a couple of moments, pulled out a battered, mulberry-coloured notebook and raised it in triumph. "I found this in Uncle Harry's attic when we had that family get-together about a month ago, and I think you might be interested."

"What is it?" Lily asked, her eyebrows shooting upwards.

"A diary," came Rose's answer. "You may be thinking, 'okay, but what do I have to do with some random person's diary and why, of all places, are we in this dusty, old café,' but just take a look at it." She handed the book to Lily, who opened the cover carefully, as if afraid of touching it.

 _August 28th, 1971,_ the notes began.

 _Dear diary,_

 _Hello…? Do I say hello? I'm not sure how I'm supposed to write a diary, but my mum said that it's the best place to keep my memories and secrets... so, I guess I'll have to give it a go._

 _You know what? I'm feeling excited right now. You won't believe this, but I'm a witch! Not one of those evil, ugly witches in fairytales, though, because I'm not ugly, or evil, even if Tuney says so. But I can do magic! Real magic! Can you believe it? Did you know there's a school called Hogwarts—such a silly name—where all wizards and witches go? I'm going there too. Me! It's making me nervous. Really nervous._

 _I actually did some magic things already! I went shopping with one of the professors at Hogwarts. She's called Professor McGonagall, I think. We went to this place called Diagon Alley and bought magical textbooks, magical robes, and even a cauldron and a wand! It was as if I'd travelled into another dimension, or something. Like a dream, but it was actually real!_

 _What else should I write about?_

 _Oh, right! I should talk about my day as well! Mum said that's what diary-writers do. I think I can do that. Today, my dad bought me this notebook that I'm writing in right now. It's a good luck charm for Hogwarts. I wonder if wizards actually have good luck charms. Do they?_

 _Anyway, I want to show this diary to my friends, because the cover is mulberry and that's my new favourite colour. Oh, and after buying it, we went to a café, and I got hot chocolate, and it tasted awesome! I asked Tuney if she wanted to come with us to that place another time, but she didn't want to. I think she's still angry because of the whole Hogwarts thing. I hope we make up soon, because I don't want her to miss out on it._

 _I guess that's all for today, I think._

 _Lily E._

As soon as she was finished with the entry, Lily Luna lifted her face to meet Rose's smug expression. Despite being a Gryffindor, she'd never looked so Slytherin before.

"Do you mean to tell me that you found the diary of my long-deceased grandmother a month ago and decided to tell me about it just now?" Lily asked, folding her arms once again.

"Is that really what you're most concerned about?' Rose retorted. "It's not just any journal, as you can see. From what I've gathered, it contains years and years of entries, and some kind of enlargement charm was used to generate an infinite number of new pages, despite how slim it is on the outside. There was also a Muggle repellent charm placed on it, though I'm not yet sure why."

Lily placed her hand on the soft, mulberry-coloured cover once again. "I understand that, but…" she said, but her words got caught up as she averted her gaze for a moment. "Anyway, that still doesn't explain why we're here."

"Lily, didn't you pay attention?" Rose replied, her tone hushed but still full of excitement. "This is the very café your granny talks about in the first entry! It's nothing short of a miracle that this place still exists, let alone that I was able to find it!"

"Huh," was all Lily could come back with.

"In case you're interested," Rose continued, changing the topic swiftly, "it also tells how Granny Lily and Gramps James got together."

Lily poked at the notebook in front of her. If she was to be honest with herself, she was in a state of shock, mixed with a subtle urge to go and sob in a corner where she couldn't be seen. She'd asked her dad multiple times to tell her about her grandparents, but he could never tell her stories, since they'd died when he had been little. Lily had always thought it to be unfair, since she had plenty of memories of Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur, but none about Lily and James.

"You can have it," Rose told her all of a sudden. "After all, it's your grandma. And I've brought another book, just in case," she added, pulling a light novel out of her case. Lily stared at her for a moment, then at the diary, then her hands. As if switched onto autopilot, she opened the notebook somewhere in the middle. "If you want to read the 'Lily & James' parts, you should start somewhere around fifth year," the older girl noted. Lily nodded, and turned a few pages in accordance.

 _April 1st, 1975_

 _Dear diary,_

 _Can you believe how obnoxious Potter and his gang have been all day? Just… ugh. It's not like their usual attire is any more tolerable, but today, it reached a whole new level of irritating. I'd love to go into detail, but I'm already exhausted and would rather not think about it anymore, but let's just say that thanks to their tasteless pranks, about half of the Slytherin house, including Sev, will probably have nightmares for the rest of the school year—and possibly have their hair turn bubblegum pink at random occasions, along with snail-vomiting, possibly. It gives me a headache just thinking about it. At least those gits got detention for it, if nothing else. Sometimes I just want to round them up and… ugh. Whatever._

 _With that being said, I'm ready to forget this day once and for all, so let's talk about something else. I still haven't managed to find out who Mary likes, and she won't tell me, no matter how hard I press her. I'm starting to think it's somebody truly embarrassing, but I have no idea who it could be. It's not like she would ever interact with the… darker side of Slytherin, but I suppose it could be one of the Ravenclaws she sometimes talks with. I'll have to come up with something to find out._

 _Oh, and I had a Arithmancy test today. I hope it went well, because it will affect my final grade for the year._

 _So many things to have a headache about, right?_

 _Lily E._

"Isn't it surprising?" Rose noted, seeing the furrowed eyebrows and the confused expression that was etched onto Lily's face.

"I guess," came the reply. "But above everything, it feels weird to suddenly know so much about Grandma Lily."

"It must be hard for you." Rose nodded. "But hey, look at the bright side of things. You may actually get together with Scorpius if things progress the way they do, based on this diary."

"What? No!" Lily exclaimed, which only served as a reason to make Rose giggle. "Fine, whatever. Just let me read, okay?" She then turned a few pages in the notebook, landing on a completely different entry.

 _February 12th, 1977_

 _Dear diary,_

 _Can you guess what happened? You surely can, because it has happened before. James Potter asked me out. For the third time this month. Except this time, it was for the Valentine's Hogsmeade trip. Should I even be surprised anymore? Aside from the fact that I've said no a number of times already, what is he even trying to achieve with this debauchery? I've told him to lay off with it, but no._

 _Mary said there was a possibility that he really means it and is trying to show me how much he's changed, but even if he_ has _changed, he's not showing it right. I may not hate him, because I really don't, and I've said so before, but that doesn't make him any less of an annoying toerag. It's not like I like him back, either, and he should be glad that I can tolerate him for more than five minutes. I could give him ideas on how to actually be more mature, but it's not worth much if he can't figure it out by himself, is it?_

 _What's more worrying, though, is that I don't have anyone to go to Hogsmeade with. Mary will go with her Ravenclaw boyfriend—that I set her up with—so that's out of the question, but I'm not that close with the other girls in our dorm. I guess I could tag along with some Hufflepuffs I know, or something, but I wonder if I should just stay behind. I need to study for my upcoming Transfigurations exam anyway._

 _Have I ever told you how exhausting Advanced Transfigurations is? It's as if McGonagall thinks that we do not have any other classes, but I guess I did chose to continue with the subject, so I really should stop complaining. Still… ugh._

 _I should stop saying 'ugh' so often. It makes me sound like Granny, who can't stop complaining about her neighbour's dog._

 _Lily E._

She flipped through another couple of pages, wondering what it had been that changed her grandma's heart.

 _October 10th, 1977_

 _Dear diary,_

 _Today was rather stressful. I had two exams right after each other—Transfigurations and Potions, which are two subjects I need Os in—and on top of that, I had to deal with one of the fifth year prefects. Supposedly, they were seen harassing a second year Ravenclaw, so it was my duty to find out if it was true, and act accordingly, if it was. And let me tell you, there's barely anything worse than having to run around the school because of these administrative incidents while worrying about your exams._

 _Thankfully, James was there to help me, and I was quite surprised to find it so. I didn't think he was worthy to be appointed Head Boy, but maybe he really had matured over the summer. I wonder what had happened that made it so. In any case, I'm glad he's stepped up. I was afraid that I'd have to shoulder all of the responsibility myself, and learning that it wasn't so is all I could have hoped for._

 _Actually, I'm thinking about giving him a chance with this whole 'dating' thing. I mean, it's not like anything disastrous would happen, and besides, I won't live forever. Maybe I could even grow to actually like him. Who knows?_

 _Mary says I should give it a try, too. That is, if I want to. I'll definitely think about it._

 _Lily E._

Not bothering with the details, Lily flipped the pages until she found the entry about their first date.

 _November 5th, 1977_

 _Dear diary,_

 _I've had my first date with James today, and it was surprisingly good. Nothing flashy, but I enjoyed myself all the more for it. We talked about various things—he said he wanted to get to know me better, so I complied—and he actually asked me if I was all right after that disaster with the prefects last month. I'm starting to think he really was worried about my mental health, but this was kind of him. I told him I was over it already, so he didn't need to fret._

 _Oh, did you know that he used to have a pet cat at home? Unfortunately, she died two years ago, but James said that maybe it was for the best; after all, Sirius had an inherent dislike for cats that James could never understand, but had to accept along the way. I told him about the family cat we used to have as well. I still miss Fluffy from time to time._

 _Have you seen James' eyes, though? They're a hazelnut colour, and although mulberry is my favourite—it somehow stuck with me—it's beautiful. Like… beautiful. No, I'm not just saying that. It really is pretty. Although, when I told this to Mary, she rolled her eyes and smiled at me like she knew something I didn't._

 _I don't need her to tell me, though, because I know it already. At least, I think. Maybe._

 _Either way, he said we should do something like this again, and I agreed. I really hope I didn't make a mistake._

 _Lily E._

Turning another batch of pages, Lily glanced at Rose again, who was deeply immersed in her own book while sipping her coffee. Deciding against telling her about what she'd just read, Lily instead continued reading with an even later entry.

 _June 20th, 1978_

 _Dear diary,_

 _Guess what? I'm engaged now! It almost feels childish to be writing this diary when I've just written down tons of ideas for colour schemes and venues for my own wedding, but not writing it down would also feel weird. After all, this diary has been with me for seven years._

 _So, how have I gotten engaged? Well, I wouldn't say it was the most romantic thing ever; after all, we're still in school, but still. It was in the middle of a picnic date near the Black Lake and all, and it was just the two of us, so that made it more intimate, I think, but either way, I wouldn't trade it for anything else. Ah, I'm rambling so much. Still, isn't it a wonder?_

 _I really can't think about anything else, other than how magnificent our wedding will be. I wanted to write about other things, too, but this is occupying 99% of my thoughts right now. I'm so happy._

 _And, you know, after all that we've been through, after all that I've been through, it was still worth it, wasn't it?_

 _Lily E._

"Have you finished?" Rose asked, glancing up from her novel again while setting her cup on the little oak table.

"Kind of." Lily nodded. "Though, I've only read the engagement part, not the last entry. It's… interesting. Never thought I'd ever get my hands on something like this, though."

"I know, right?" The pitch of Rose's voice rose somewhat, but she calmed herself soon after. "Anyway, I suggest you read the rest as well. It's actually pretty exciting. Oh, and don't forget to show it to Uncle Harry; I'm sure he'll be delighted."

"I will. I definitely will," Lily said, her fingers caressing the mulberry cover once again.


	14. Guilt

**A/N: It took me a bit to find two characters that fit my criteria for this story, but everything considered, I managed to find people whose name I could I actually recall. I'll take that as a victory.**

 **A million thanks and virtual cookies to LittleMissXanda for helping me with the story.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Word count: 2,301 (according to MS Word)**

 **QLFC Finals Round 2** – Chaser 3: Ten Second Pimple Vanisher

 **Extra prompts:**

1\. (dialogue) "Stop fidgeting so much!"

4\. (word) hypothetical

14\. (restriction) No Gryffindor or Slytherin characters

* * *

"Stop fidgeting so much!" said Mandy Brocklehurst, holding a small wad of cotton near her best friend, Lisa Turpin's face. "It's going to sting a little, but you know I'm not going to hurt you. Hold still."

"Okay," Lisa replied, her voice unwavering; however, the trembling of her hands made it clear she was not entirely comfortable. "Just… just a bad habit."

Mandy let out an inward sigh as she tapped the white material to the sickly crimson scar next to Lisa's lips, which resulted in a hiss from the brunette, whose face contorted involuntarily.

Now that Hogwarts was under the reign of Death Eaters, scenes such as this were everyday occurrences for the two of them. Some days were worse. There had been times when Mandy had to drag Lisa—or the other way around—to their dorm half-unconscious; some days were fine, both of them surviving with mere scratches. Being lowly, half-blood Ravenclaws had its perks and disadvantages.

Half-bloods… well, technically. No one had to know about the secret that Mandy carried around with herself every day—no one but her and Lisa.

"All done," Mandy declared, casting an _Incendio_ at the cotton, watching until the flames burned out and only ashes remained. It was all a safety measure. "That scar will be healed in no time." She was careful not to mention any of the other scabs and cuts that marred their bodies.

"I wish," came the curt reply. Lisa took a strand of her hair and twisted it between her fingers—a habit of hers when she was trying to calm herself down, Mandy had learned. "For how long will we have to endure this?"

It wasn't a question Mandy could answer, nor was it a question that Lisa expected an answer to. Still, the former felt obligated to break the silence.

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head with more force than intended.

Lisa cast down her eyes, clasping her hands on her lap. This constant fidgeting, this ceaseless twitching, was another recently attained habit of hers.

"This isn't what I thought it was going to be like when I got my Hogwarts letter," Lisa said finally, dropping another stone on Mandy's already heavy heart.

"Would you have refused?" Mandy inquired, glancing at her restless friend. "If you'd known?"

"Who knows?" Lisa replied, letting out a shaky sigh. "Hypothetically, if I had, I'd probably be dead now. Riddle me this: Which one is better? Having your entire family killed while you survive by a stroke of luck, or dying with them?"

Mandy didn't answer, but a bout of guilt did wind through her gut. After all, it was partly because of her that Lisa was in this split state of being, wishing to be alive and dead at the same time. She was sure that if she had her bag on her shoulder right now, it would feel heavier than usual.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, a miserable expression etched onto her face.

"Not your fault," she heard Lisa's distant voice. "If it wasn't for your father, I'd be in Azkaban right now. I mean, how did he even get a hold of those documents?" She chuckled, the noise sounding unfamiliar, artificial to Mandy.

"Sometimes, being an unnoticeable, half-blood Ministry worker has its advantages," Mandy replied, fixing her gaze on the little tube of Ten Second Pimple Vanisher that lay peacefully in her bag.

Of course, Mandy knew that if anybody ever found out that her father had stolen official papers on Lisa's heritage and forged fake new ones, he'd be killed on the spot—or fed to the Dementors. Still, she had this sense of gratitude, since if it wasn't for him, Lisa would have been persecuted as soon as the Death Eaters found her, and if there was anything Mandy didn't want to happen, it was that.

As for the documents having been transfigured into this stupid tube, which Mandy kept with her at all times… As long as no one found out, all of them would stay alive.

"I've always wondered, though," Lisa interrupted the other's thoughts. "Why the Ten Second Pimple Vanisher? It's a Weasley product, and you know how Death Eaters are with those."

"They don't know its origin, that's why," Mandy said, taking the tube out of her bag. "I removed the trademark, which isn't all that noticeable anyway. Besides, we're teenage girls. No one will bat an eyelash if I keep something like this with me, because it's an effective beauty product and all, and 'those bloody teenagers are obsessed with their looks for some reason,'" she continued, her voice a notch louder while she drew quotation marks with her fingers during the last part.

"Huh," said Lisa, her gaze wandering to the window. Mandy dropped the tube back into her bag, then zipped it up, making sure it was out of the way of any harm.

"Yeah." She nodded. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the afternoon. There was nothing more to talk about.

~oOo~

Mandy had once asked Lisa why she was so hell bent on keeping the evidence instead of burning it like they always did with the antiseptic cotton after cleaning up their wounds. After all, it posed more danger than solace. When she had mentioned it, Lisa had bitten her bottom lip, shifted her gaze sideways, and had said she wasn't sure herself. It was the first time Mandy had seen her so emotional after Lisa's family had been killed.

She had said that it was a hypothetical guess, that it sounded stupid, and it _was_ stupid, but maybe she was clinging onto it because it served as a reminder of her past and her family, so she was reluctant to let it go. She had also said that it was possibly the first time in years that she had let her emotions take over her Ravenclaw rationale. War had irrational effects on people, she had concluded.

Mandy had agreed. The rise and reign of You-Know-Who had changed Lisa. Mandy had always admired her for being so independent, but the war had reduced her to an insecure, distant shadow of herself.

This was one of the reasons why Mandy had promised herself she would do anything in her power to protect the secret of the Ten Second Pimple Vanisher.

From time to time, Mandy would think and reflect on recent events. During these moments, she would often feel a crippling sense of guilt wash over her. As if what had happened to Lisa was her fault. She knew it wasn't, and she knew there was little she could have done, but it was so easy to blame herself for her best friend's suffering.

It was during one of these moments, while hurrying down the corridors, that she misstepped and fell headfirst onto the floor, the contents of her bag scattering in every direction.

In a fracture of a second, she realised that her—or rather, Lisa's—secret was in danger; her eyes darted around the place frantically, trying to locate the tube of pimple vanisher before anything else. At times like these, she was glad that her peers were too scared of torture to do anything but stand. No one said a word. No one snickered, but no one moved an inch to help Mandy gather her belongings either.

Fortunately for her, she found what she'd been searching for lying a few steps below her; she extended her hand and clutched it tightly before shoving it into the deepest depths of her bag, away from prying eyes. She did not care if the act seemed peculiar—grabbing a one-of-a-thousand beauty product before anything else—she wanted the item safe.

She noticed the furrowed eyebrows of Professor Vector as she picked up her textbooks and quills, one by one. She hoped the professor wouldn't ask about it, just this once. Mandy could also feel the gaze of Lisa on her back, asking her to please be careful, but also worrying, trying to decipher if Mandy was okay. The latter tried to keep herself composed, tried not to cave in under the stress of having messed up.

She wasn't asked about the incident by anyone, and she wasn't regarded with suspicion either. It seemed her aversion tactic of choosing an innocuous object to transfigure the documents to was working, but there was a nagging, lingering pang of fear in the back of Mandy's head. What if they were found out? Would she ever be able to face Lisa again? Would she see her again at all?

~oOo~

In the afternoon, a couple of days later, while Mandy was tending to her best friend's freshly reopened wounds and was telling her to stop fidgeting so much yet again, Lisa gripped her shoulder all of a sudden.

"Hm?" Mandy moved her eyes from the other girl's arm to her face.

"You're the one trembling," the brunette said, motioning towards Mandy's visibly shaking hand holding the usual wad of cotton. "Is something the matter?"

Mandy shook her head, maybe a bit more forcefully than she should have. "I'm fine. Just… the usual, I guess."

She didn't want to talk about her emotions, which had gotten out of hand as of late. It will eventually get better, she told herself.

"You're usually not this jumpy," Lisa noted, her own voice as calm and collected as ever. Mandy bit her lip, trying to keep herself under check, and supplicating the rational half of her mind for help.

Wanted or not, it would not do good to bottle up her feelings. She was not that kind of girl. In this whole bloody mess that the two of them had gotten into, their honesty towards each other was the only thing that kept everything afloat, after all. What would it be like to be the one consoled, rather than the one consoling, for once?

She sighed, burying her head in her palms.

"I'm afraid," she said, wary of elaborating further.

"Of what?" came another question. "That we're going to get caught?"

Mandy nodded.

"Me too," continued Lisa curtly. "Me too," rang her voice, weaker than the first time. It seemed as though she wanted to say more, but the sounds had gotten lost halfway through. Tears were blurring her eyes, but she fought them back, keeping her gaze fixated on the window.

Lisa didn't like crying, so she had always tried to substitute it by staring at the nearest object until the urge had gone away. Alas, she hadn't always succeeded, so during the weeks following her escape from her family house, Mandy had often found herself conjuring a handkerchief for the tear-stained face of her best friend.

Those times, the two of them wouldn't exchange words; they'd sit side-by-side, only the occasional sobs of Lisa interrupting the silence. For Mandy, it was all natural—Lisa had always stood up for her in the past, so it was her time to return the favour.

Watching her friend fight the tears, Mandy instinctively reached for her bag. It was a habit she'd picked up, much like Lisa's never-ending twitching. Whenever she was close to losing her nerve, she checked if the tube of pimple vanisher was still there, and since it had always been, it gave her a momentary sense of calmness.

Except this time, the object was not there. No matter how frantically Mandy searched, each tug at the bottom of her bag more and more hysterical, it never showed up. It had vanished.

An icy feeling of fear settled in Mandy's stomach, her heartbeat speeding up to the point where her breathing turned to hyperventilating. Not that she noticed any of these bodily symptoms; her mind was fixated on something different.

Her father was going to die. Lisa was going to Azkaban, and Mandy herself was possibly going there as well. These images of horror flashed through her mind repeatedly as she clutched her bag until her knuckles turned white from the effort. The guilt that she had gotten used to ever since the Turpin family's murder surfaced again; it was stronger than ever, consuming Mandy's entire being.

All because of a damn tube of Ten Second Pimple Vanisher. How ridiculous was that?

Next to her, Lisa sat, watching, and in that moment, Mandy couldn't quite tell what the other was feeling. Was it the same kind of fear? Was it resentment towards her? Was it the face of silent agony that she had been wearing for the past few months? Mandy couldn't tell because her friend looked… empty. As if all her emotions had been drained. As if she was nothing more than a shell of what she had used to be.

"Lisa?" Mandy asked through the prickling tears that were pooling in her eyes. The other didn't cry; she locked her gaze onto her mess of a best friend, then lifted her face, staring out at the window, her eyes turning bitter, sour, and dejected with every passing moment. Maybe she hadn't digested the weight of the information yet, and that's why she kept silent. Maybe she was readying herself for the numbness that would protect her from what was to come. Maybe it was her usual coping method surfacing again.

Mandy didn't know. She didn't know if she would ever be able to look into the eyes of her friend once again. She also had no idea who it was that had stolen the bottle, the evidence of Lisa being a Muggleborn. She wasn't interested in hearing what would happen to them next.

She only knew, as the two of them were dragged out of their dorm minutes later, that the disappointed, accusing glare on Lisa's face was meant for her, and that it was well-deserved.


	15. Free, At Last

**A/N: This is a horrid round.**

 **Word count: 1,103 (according to MS Word)**

 **Infinite amount of virtual cookies to Kefalion, LittleMissXanda, and Clairebear1982 for helping me out with the story, the title, and for betaing. We've come this far, guys, so let's not stop here :)**

 **QLFC Semi Finals:** Wasps – Peter Pettigrew's Silver Hand

 **Extra prompts:**

· 5. (quote) "My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice." - Newt Scamander, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

· 7. (restriction) No using ?

· 10. (emotion) paranoia

* * *

Freedom. All he'd ever wanted was freedom. It bad been true before he died, and it remained true after.

Something he'd often said before he died was: 'My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice.' He had tried to keep himself to this view for as long as he'd been able to. He had tried to live a life he could look back on without regrets. He'd tried to survive the war without troubling himself about what was to come next. Living life one day at a time. Yes, his blood status had thrown him into danger. Yes, he was unwanted. He had known there was a chance he would die; the thought had always lingered, but if that was to happen, then so be it. Or so he had thought.

He had already accepted death when the Killing Curse hit him after the Death Eaters had found his hideout. A normal death would have been easy. Much easier than the existence that was his reality now. He had never expected to be pulled back into this wretched world twenty years later, not even partly so. He wanted to be free of the chains tying him to this world, free of worry, free of the fear that the war had planted within him despite his best efforts to suppress it.

Alas, he was now bound to the living world, to another being, and would remain so until this other being died, or perhaps even longer. What was worse, he was only present in the form of an arm, with the rest of his body lost somewhere within the ether. He was weak. Powerless. A sliver of the wizard he'd once been. The undoubtedly black magic that had been used to pull him back and attach him to the disgrace of a man he now served had sapped him of his will as well as a body of his own. He was no more than a puppet. No more than a mere object, a means to an end without sentience.

Well, supposedly without sentience. That was what others assumed, but he was very much aware, painfully aware at all times of what he was forced to do, and he had no control over it. As if his nerves had short-circuited and connected to his host's body. From time to time, he was able to wretch enough control of himself to twitch, which would always elicit a yelp of paranoia from the man to whom he was attached, and then his concentration, his tenuous control would slip away, and it would be a long time before he could extract a reaction again.

The name of the snivelling wizard he was attached to was Peter, if he remembered correctly. Not that it mattered, but knowing the name of the person whom he hated utterly and wished the demise of made his feelings all the more vibrant. Oh, how he wished he could end this man, how he wished to be free, once and for all!

This new way of life wrecked his previous hedonistic lifestyle and philosophy. He often wondered why it was him that had been cursed with this fate. He wondered if there was anything he could have done to prevent it from happening. He had become bitter and hateful, with no one he could voice his grievances to. The only true constant was his desire to be free. He had lived in a manner that awarded him freedom before; he ought to do no less now. He should fight for his freedom. It would be foolish of him to wait for what would feel like an eternity before this Peter man died. No. If the chance ever presented itself, he would kill the man with his own one hand. Morale and virtues had become obsolete. Such concepts had ceased to matter a long time ago.

As much as he was weak, Peter was weak as well. He observed as much throughout the first few months they spent together. Peter had no free will to speak of, and he was always paranoid, which would often cause him to shake or twitch involuntarily, making him even more pathetic. He had little control over his actions, and he always did what You-Know-Who instructed him to do. Yet, this creature had more power than he did. It was galling and caused his hatred to grow. At the same time, the other's paranoia and weak-willedness planted some sort of hope within him. He would cause the very timely demise of the rat if it were the last thing he did. He needed only to be aware enough during a moment of weakness.

For a long time, he was unsuccessful. Even in Peter's moments of wavering, he could not channel enough energy to move his form in accordance with his will. He had tried feeding off of Peter's fear and paranoia to take control. He had tried to merge Peter's magic with his own and then turn it to his advantage. He had tried to move the ghostly hand he had been given with short bursts of magical energy, but none of his methods worked. With the passing of months, he began to wonder if he would ever have the chance to be free again, if he would ever escape the cursed state of limbo he had been banished to. The spark of hope he'd been kindling faded with every failed attempt.

When he had almost given up, when he had almost succumbed to the eternal suffering he had been subjected to, he succeeded.

In a moment of danger, Peter's loyalty to You-Know-Who wavered, and all of his self-security came crashing down with it. Although freedom had seemed like nothing more than a distant dream, he had kept on gathering snippets of magic from Peter, and, rather than constantly using it up, he had decided to prepare for a burst instead. And when Peter's hesitation struck, so did he.

Much to his surprise as well as his delight, the hand that had failed to comply with his wishes now moved along with his command.

He felt nothing but cold, bitter determination as his host took his last breath. The years of imprisonment had taken away any feelings of guilt for his actions. He had nothing but his freedom to chase.

As soon as the rat dropped on the floor, he felt a light tug. His senses dulled, and his hand was no more. As the world faded around him, one thought remained echoing, and he swore if he had a mouth, he would have smiled.

"Free, at last."


	16. Honour's Rose

**A/N: Ah, yeah, there's a bit of torture in this. Not much, not bloody, but yeah. Dark and whatnot (not really, though).**

 **That said, it has been one hell of a ride. Over a year, and I'm exhausted, both emotionally and mentally, and I'm kind of just glad it's over. It's been a pleasure to have been part of this team; no matter what came our way, we stuck together, and I have no idea what my life would be like without you guys, but I'm glad to have met you all, and I'm glad to have come this far. We were the chatty bunch, the bunch who left everything to the last minute, and the bunch that wanted none of the drama, but all in all, I've decided that my choice to join this team had not been in vain. Buzz, buzz, y'all ;)**

 **QLFC Finals:** Each prompt is a quote that is widely associated with one particular character, but it's your job to make somebody else say it in your story. - **Chaser 3:** "Not my daughter, you bitch." – Molly

 **Beta love:** Cookies and a million thanks to Frida, Ellen, and Shane for betaing. You're all awesome :)

 **Word count:** 2017 (according to MS Word)

 **Extra prompts:**

· 2. (quote) "We accept the love we think we deserve." - Stephen Chbosky

· 9. (song) 'Roses' - Poets of the Fall (the use of prompt is somewhat complicated, but I mainly used the scenery, imagery, and symbolism depicted in the lyrics)

· 13. (word count) 2017

* * *

The crackle of a bonfire was the only sound in the night, the flickering light concealed under disillusionment charms. On one side of the fire lay a brunette girl, staring at the sky with an indifferent expression—it was only her eyes that would glint, full of pain, from time to time.

' _Not my daughter,'_ a scornful voice hissed in her mind, _'you bitch.'_

The girl shook her head. Now wasn't the time to think about _that._

"Daphne." She felt someone tap her shoulder lightly. Flicking her gaze to the one who'd said her name without a moment's hesitation, she hopped to her feet, only to come face-to-face with her companion.

"Blaise," she said, letting out an exasperated sigh. "What is it?"

"It's getting late," Blaise replied, "and we shouldn't be outside. It isn't safe outside the disillusioned tent. We're not under anyone's protection anymore."

Daphne nodded, her eyes wandering to the side. As the war had progressed, the Dark Lord and his followers had become harsher and harsher. It hadn't taken long for them to establish a no tolerance policy, meaning one was either an ally or an enemy. No grey people, no outsiders, no onlookers.

Daphne had decided not to participate. She wanted no part in it, not after seeing what the war was doing to her peers. She didn't want to become like the others: soulless, an empty shell of their former selves. She didn't want the war to have that toll on her; so, she'd fled, and Blaise had accompanied her. She hadn't asked him what his reason was, nor had she thought herself to be in a position to do so. They didn't talk about it; they didn't need to.

She nodded without a word but turned back to face the fire, her gaze stuck on the mesmerising flames. "Give me a few minutes."

No reply came, but Daphne heard shuffling from behind her and assumed that her companion had left her to it. As such, it came as a surprise when Blaise plopped down next to her, crossing his legs and fixing his gaze on the starry sky.

At Daphne's questioning glance, he shrugged, a hint of a nonchalant smirk making its way onto his face.

"You can't stay out here without someone watching your back," he said.

Daphne let out a hum and went back to staring at the fire. She wasn't in the mood for talking.

Soon, her thoughts went wandering again, the same sentence echoing through her mind ceaselessly.

" _Not my daughter, you bitch."_ The sentence resonated with a voice dripping with hatred, followed by a flash of bright crimson.

Daphne frowned. This scene, although it had haunted her, had never come back with such frequency as in the last few days. She had thought that she was finally over it, but… But now, she wasn't sure anymore. She was not sure if it would ever go away. The feeling of betrayal and alienation from her family might be there to stay.

She instinctively reached for the brooch that was safely tucked underneath her outer robes. It was in the shape of a rose, and had some Latin—or French? She didn't know—words inscribed on the dark crimson petals. If she could recall correctly, it meant something along the lines of 'We only accept the love we think we deserve.' It was a quote her mother had often recited to Daphne, telling her that the rose resembled love and that it was connected to honour—the virtue their family most valued.

It was the last and only family relic she had kept after that day.

Gritting her teeth, she gripped the rose brooch and slipped it back under her robes. Leaving had been her own choice, and if her family was to condemn her because of it, then so be it. She had known she would be disowned; the gesture shouldn't have hurt so much.

Alas, Merlin knows it did. It hurt more than anything, but Daphne's pride, her honour, stopped her from showing the mixture of desperation and disdain she felt. It was the honour that her family had always been so proud of.

"Thinking about it will only make it worse," she heard Blaise's quiet voice from behind. He was looking at her with a thoughtful gaze, his eyes trained on where she had hidden the pin. "Speaking from experience."

"I don't recall telling you about this particular story. How would you know if thinking about it really worsens it?" Daphne replied, scepticism seeping into her voice.

"Humour me, then." Blaise raised his eyebrows as a challenge.

Daphne shook her head slightly, keeping her indifferent expression intact.

"Maybe later," she said. Then, without another word, she stood, extinguishing the crackling fire with a quietly murmured spell. "I could use some sleep right now, wouldn't you agree?"

Blaise looked at her with slight incredulity. Then, he shrugged. "As you wish."

As he rose soundlessly, Daphne turned around to head to their tent. As soon as she did, though, a hand came to rest on her shoulder, gripping with so much force that she couldn't help but wince.

"What-" She was about to turn around and ask what he'd done that for, but a force was holding her back, making her gag when she tried to use her voice. Had Blaise just used a Silencing Charm on her?!

"Someone triggered the wards," he whispered, lifting the charm with a quick _Finite_ , "and they're probably coming for us."

An icy feeling washed over Daphne. She had never been a great duelist; what's more, she was utterly unprepared for an attack, even after living in hiding for the past few months. How had anyone even been able to find their camp?

"What do we do?" she asked, reaching for her wand beneath her robes.

"What _can_ we do?" Blaise corrected. "We get out of here real fast, that's what."

A bright red stream of light came crashing towards the pair of them. Daphne barely had the chance to duck as the spell scratched her upper arm, leaving what she was sure would be an angry scar.

"Or not," she heard Blaise mumble as he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her towards what she knew to be the edge of the apparition wards. She tried shielding the two of them with the best _Protego_ she could muster, but the flurry of spells was rapidly becoming overwhelming. Her wand hand was getting tired, and with it, the shield weakened until it disappeared completely.

It was then, that another pair of hands came snaking around her waist, hoisting her up and forcibly separating her from Blaise. Before she could scream for help, she was thrown over her assailant's shoulder, her wand falling from its holster as she was taken away somewhere deeper into the woods.

Screaming for help now was futile. Blaise couldn't help her while being attacked from virtually all directions, so Daphne opted for kicking and punching her attacker with all her might.

Useless though it was, at least she tried.

Minutes later, as the sounds coming from the clearing with their tent faded, Daphne was thrown onto the ground unceremoniously, landing with a thud that made the air flow out of her lungs. Catching her breath, she tried to get a better look at the man who had kidnapped her. His face, much to her disdain, was covered with a mask.

 _Great_ , she thought. _Just great._

"I'll have to say that your mother did an excellent job," the man said, and Daphne could almost hear the triumphant smirk in his voice. Daphne's mind clicked, and the so very despised voice that had been bothering her the whole day came back with full force.

 _She was facing her mother, her sneer mirroring the older woman's. Her hand was on her wand, though she didn't need it, as the woman turned around, looking over her shoulder with a scornful expression._

" _You're not my daughter," she said, then added with a lower, more threatening voice, "you bitch."_

The memory came flooding back, her mother's voice echoing steadily in Daphne's mind, occupying her thoughts so that she didn't even take note of her immediate surroundings.

 _Not my daughter, you bitch. Not my daughter, you bitch. Notmydaughteryoubitch._

"Planting a tracking device on you was a brilliant idea of hers," the man said, knocking Daphne out of her stupor, leaving her staring with widened eyes. What device? "It allowed us to wait as you went playing with our enemies. Led us right to you all. Now, tell me," the man continued, putting a boot on Daphne's abdomen and pressing her into the ground. "Where are the others?"

"What device?" she parroted her inner question.

"What do you mean what device?" the man asked, his voice somewhat confused.

"What did you track me down with?" Daphne asked, slipping her business mask—an expression devoid of all emotions—on. "I can simply refuse to reply until you answer. Let's trade information for information, shall we?" she offered, the cogwheels in her mind spinning at the speed of light, trying to figure out how to get out of the situation without being subjected to a Cruciatus.

"Don't mistake me; I could torture you until you spill it," her attacker replied. "I was just offering a profitable deal."

"Tell me what the damn tracker is, and I'll tell you about the others," Daphne said, trying her best to remain commanding. She had no idea where any light-side combatants were, but pretending was her best chance.

"If that's how it is, then as you wish," the man said, pointing his wand at her. " _Crucio_."

There was pain, the sort of pain Daphne had rarely experienced before. Gritting her teeth, she tried tuning out the spasms of her muscles, trying to steer her thoughts onto other matters. In the end, that only helped her memories to come forward again, her mother's words practically screaming in her ears.

 _Not my daughter, you bitch._

And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain lifted, and she heard a dull thud from where the man had been standing. Blaise was there, panting and with fresh cuts all over his face, his wand trained on the Death Eater.

"Here's a wand," he said, throwing a piece of wood at Daphne. "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive," she said with a nod, lacing her voice with gratefulness. "The rest of them?"

"We have a bit of time, but if you want something from him," he glanced at the man on the ground, "get it quickly."

"What is the device?" Daphne asked. "Tell me."

The man, face still hidden beneath the mask, stayed silent for a moment before talking.

"The rose. Precious little thing, it is."

Daphne reached for her brooch, ripping it off her robes as her mind started swirling again.

The item was a family heirloom that reminded her of what she had left behind. A relic of the past, the last object she could cling onto, the only memory that kept her attached to her family. And now, she couldn't look at it with anything but betrayal and disgust.

Why must they take away everything that was left of her past?

Daphne cursed under her breath as she banished the brooch, wiping away the angry tears that formed in her eyes. She wouldn't cry, not over someone, something, that didn't deserve the tears.

Before she could use her better judgment, she sent a Stupefy the man's way, irritation bubbling in her as she felt the wand recoil. She was not its master, but it would have to do.

"Should I bother asking?" Blaise inquired, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Maybe later." Daphne nodded. "Hey, Blaise."

"Yes?" her companion replied.

"I think we should leave the country," she said, eyeing their surroundings. "I mean, we have nothing that connects us to this place, do we?" She sighed. "Besides, it would be peaceful. Let's get away, shall we?"

Blaise seemed to be in thought for a moment before sending a lopsided smirk Daphne's way.

"Yeah, let's."


End file.
